


Sun and Shadow

by AeantizLKamenwati



Series: Banal'han [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Elvhenan, Dragon Age Lore, Elvhen Lore, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, I typo with honor, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Prequel, Soulmates, Spoilers, Weird Plot Shit, Worldbuilding, nothing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeantizLKamenwati/pseuds/AeantizLKamenwati
Summary: In another life, another time, perhaps they could find peace, light to balance the dark, the Star to guide the Sun...Instead, blood and death found them.***Contains massive spoilers for Nothing***
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Elgar'nan, Male Lavellan/Elgar'nan, Male Lavellan/Elgar'nan/OC, Male Lavellan/OC
Series: Banal'han [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/237975
Comments: 18
Kudos: 10





	1. Sun (Elgar'nan)

**Author's Note:**

> We are far enough into Nothing, that I feel comfortable releasing the first few chapters of this. It will contain massive spoilers for Nothing, so bear that in mind if you are reading this prior to it. BUT my plan is that this story will take a turn and guide us down another path.
> 
> Basically up to a certain point, it will be a prequel to Nothing. This is Mahviiral/Banal's backstory if you will. But at a point in time it will split from the 'original cannon' in some way. I'll mark it along with any warnings here in the beginning notes. So be mindful of both as this will contain dark themes just as Nothing and will be a lot more confusing. 
> 
> Also pay attention to the Chapter Names, as they will tell you who the chapter follows, Elgar'nan or Mahviiral.
> 
> So get ready.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May the Light guide your path...

_Be careful da’len,_

_For time must be won._

_If one soul becomes two,_

_Then of two shall make one._

_Without another half,_

_No cry shall sound,_

_No smile seen,_

_Until two are bound._

_Take heart, da’len_

_For two stars alight_

_Guiding their way_

_Forever in the night_

_Together they shall lie._

_Two hearts as one_

_In dreams they meet_

_This tie shan’t be undone._

_Cry not, da’len_

_For it is the Way_

_The world shall balance_

_Just as night becomes day_

_They will find their path_

_To each other’s heart_

_For even in death,_

_Nas’falon never part._

The world stood still. The moon covered the sun, casting a dark shadow over the green fields around Arlathan. The city’s crystal buildings glowed brightly in the sudden gloom, looking to be a rainbow in a rain shower. The hot summer air lessened in its intensity.

A good omen, Halevune thought. Or, well, she hoped it was. She could feel the Void drawing closer as the moon inched over the sun. A slight prickling on the back of her neck, the Veil getting much thinner. What spirits floated along the air became visible, will-o-the-wisps darting above the crowd’s heads.

Children clapped and giggled as they played tagged with the wisps. She smiled watching them, even as her heart clenched. Her hand pressed against her stomach, a pit of dread winding into her mind.

Leanos glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He shifted closer to her, pressing his shoulder against hers. Their fingers found each other at their sides. She looked up, one eye of emerald green and one of deep brown met Leanos’s. The dark purple of twilight clashed with the bright turquoise waters of the ocean.

“It is a good sign,” he whispered simply. He kissed her freckled forehead gently as he pulled her closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist and looked over the crowd once more. She bit her lip as the child in her womb stirred.

She prayed to all the stars in the sky this was a good omen. She could not bear another lifeless child.

The priests consoled her, told her that her bloodline—the Salladin’s—were powerful animancers, which meant they had the tendency to produce _nas’falon_ more often than not. Why was anyone’s guess, perhaps meddling with souls naturally altered theirs to cause splits in their children.

Leanos’s bloodline—the Ivun’s—held the power to absorb magic from the very air, and from anyone around them. Most could not approach him without feeling the air escape their lungs, and that was him showing restraint. Had she not shared half his soul, not even she would withstand his power for long. This power was dangerous not just to the living, but to spirits.

The priests assured Halevune that it was normal for an Ivun to struggle conceiving, even more so with another powerful bloodline. His blood weakened the child’s tether to the Void, so the soul had a harder time passing through the Veil into this world. Her blood might further weaken it by causing it to tear in two.

Still, understanding the difficulties, the causes and logic, did not lessen the pain of holding a babe that should be breathing, or the pain of yet another miscarriage. She heard the whispers the couriers spoke behind veils and fans, barren they called her, The Desolate Queen they deemed her.

The _Ha’rajtuathe_ (Council of Kings) had begun to ask for a contingency plan should no heir to the Sun Throne be born within the decade. Halevune was beginning to fall into the age where childbirth became risky for both child and mother, after all. If she could not bear an heir, then either Leanos had to take a consort or name a distant cousin the heir.

Had Halevune not been a Salladin, and thus required to undergo a lengthy apprenticeship with the High Priests, they may have had more time. Alas, had she not been Leanos’s _nas’falon_ , she would’ve became the High Priestess of Suledin, and so she had to complete her training to tie herself to Suledin in place of her parents so that they might go to Uthenera.

It did not matter to the High Priests that she was now _Evune’raja_ (Moon Queen). Suledin could not be without a ruler. It was perhaps the only reason why she could keep her title rather than forfeit it when she bonded to Leanos. But it had also cost her years, and perhaps her children.

And she would trade all the fancy titles and power she gained for just one child’s heartbeat.

*****

Again the world stood still, though perhaps out of sorrow and not curiosity.

Halevune covered her mouth delicately as she watched the cradle rock gently. There was no need to rock it, the babe within as quiet as death. A soft sob escaped her lips.

She knew she should be thankful for the little rise and fall of his chest. The High Priests wove wards and spells around the cradle so thick the air had little room for anything else. To strength the babe’s soul, they said. He was weak and tiny, but that he breathed was a good sign. There was a chance at least.

She wiped at her cheeks, sniffling and trying not to start bawling again. Leanos could not be in the nursery, for fear his power would disrupt the wards. Still she felt his heartbeat steadily inside hers. A gentle warmth glowed inside her chest. She could almost imagine him holding her tight.

She stood from her chair near the cradle and glided over to it. She pulled the delicate veil to the side so she could see in. The child’s eyes remained closed, he looking as though he was merely sleeping. But he had never opened his eyes, never opened his mouth to cry.

She stroked a finger over the dark gold cheek. The babe’s head turned slightly as would any babe, but his motions were slow, disconnected and half-hearted. She traced the little pointed ear, then his brow, his nose, his little palms.

“ _Be careful, da’en/ For time must be won…_ ” her voice broke. “ _If one soul becomes two/ Then of two shall make one./ Without another half/ No cry shall sound/ No smile seen/ Until two are bound._ ”

*****

A year passed, the boy’s eyes never opening…but his chest never ceased to move. He grew very little, moved even less. The priests began to doubt he would survive much longer. That was three months ago when they gave him his name: Elgar’nan; an old family name they read in the stars the night of his birth.

Halevune remembered frowning at the name. She didn’t want her child to be a vengeful spirit…It was the name given to children in times of war, when they were expected to be warriors. Unless war was imminent, she saw no reason why the stars chose that name.

Her mentor, Itha the Elder Priest, had merely smiled behind her veil. ‘Vengeance can be many things, _da’lan_ ; it can be as bloody as war or as mundane as living.’ She had patted her shoulder and disappeared.

Could living be considered vengeance? Perhaps to those who wish you dead, it could be considered such. She knew many who wished her child dead, courtiers that pretended to be sympathetic when they saw her, but were tripping over themselves trying to get a better seat at the table.

She scoffed at her thoughts. They had begun to often turn back to the politics of court these days. The Council was all but demanding Leanos pick another heir. He had far more patience for them than Halevune.

“Not even dead, and still they fight…” she whispered to the empty room. She sighed.

The nursery was where she spent most of her time. She had the dark wood moldings memorized, the shifting magic frescos changed every hour going from ocean scenes to the forest to the night sky and back again, but that too she knew by heart.

The floor’s pattern depicted a spiral of day and night intertwined. There was a missing mosaic stone near the door that might snag a dress or robe. They had moved a daybed of dark blue fabric for her to sleep on. A small gilded table stood near it by the fireplace where pale blue flames crackled quietly.

The large windows let in the breeze from the ocean outside Arlathan. It played in the light gossamer curtains, made the delicate crystal charms over Elgar’nan’s cradle dance and twinkle. The room had little need for magelights this time of day, letting the room be bathed a bright golden hue.

Yet for all the brightness, the room felt heavy. The spells and wards around the cradle filled the room still. But more than that, a mother’s breaking heart dampened the airiness, made the light seem too bright, the breeze too gentle.

Halevune watched a bird with glittering feathers—must’ve had a spirit attached to it—fly outside the window on the balcony. She placed a ribbon in her book and set it aside. Perhaps it was a sign that she needed to let her son be free.

Was it not cruel to force his small body to live without his other half? The priests seemed to think so. If he had been growing, or perhaps slightly more animated, they would take it as a sign his _nas’falon_ was strong too.

Elgar’nan was weak, they said, his other half could not survive. It was merely a miracle the wards allowed him to hold on.

But…Halevune blinked away her tears. She cried nearly everyday, it was time to stop.

She stood and walked to the cradle in the middle of the room. A pretty thing, made from a crystal sylvan sapling told to set root and grow with the child. Soft lace of blue and gold draped from a branch over the basket filled with soft pillows held in the roots.

She pushed the fabric to the side to look down at her child. His hair had grown in, lovely golden strands falling around his face. He had three little dark spots: one on the side of his nose and two below his eyes, like someone had pricked his skin with a dot of ink. She did not know the color of his eyes, for he had never opened them.

Gently, she traced his face, brushing his hair away from his forehead. She read to him, or sang, or talked. She didn’t think it helped him any, but it was more for her own mind anyway. Mostly she just committed his face to memory. Perhaps she always knew she would have to say goodbye and merely wanted some memories before that time came.

She took a shaky breath, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers. She hummed an old lullaby to him, one of the sun he never saw but reminded her of so much. She closed her eyes for a moment.

A little noise startled her. Her eyes shot open, going right to his face. There was no change, of course. Sometimes she thought her mind cruel as it tricked her with hope.

Then the noise happened again. A whimper, she realized. She glanced around her, to be certain there was no one else in there. No spirit, no living being, nothing. Just the birds on the balcony and the breeze floating in through the windows.

She looked back at Elgar’nan. Her fingers trembled against his cheek as she leaned forward. Her voice warbled and cracked over the next few lines of song. Her heart sped up, so much so she expected Leanos to run to her in a panic.

Elgar’nan’s little nose twitched, his face starting to pinch and grow red. Another whimper escaped his lips. Then a hiccup. And finally a cry, soft and pained, but perhaps the most beautiful sound she had ever heard in her life.

She picked him up and cradled him gently against her chest. His eyes flickered opened, bright turquoise waters surrounded a dusky purple, before squeezing shut with another cry.

Then they were both crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poetry and I do not get along and I don't foresee that ever changing, so sorry for the crappy poem thing.


	2. Shadow (Mahviiral)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...And the Shadow hide your steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Redid the original version to now include a bit more backstory of Adahla and Sulendys because my ability to think of plot increases ten fold when I sleep and I just really had to use one of these lines or my brain would die.

_A new day shone alight_

_And so the Sun ended_

_The dark call of Night_

On the day the world stood still, the Void awoke and bathed the People in shadow. A good omen, they said, the realm of souls came closer the day the Sun Palace announced yet another royal pregnancy.

While Arlathan was enraptured by the news, the gilded halls of the Great Houses secretly wondered if this time would bear an heir. They hoped to offer a daughter or sister as consort, or a great gift for the newborn, to gain a foothold in the lofty Sun Palace. They would scheme and plot to outdo their rivals, all with a smile on their lips and malice in their eyes.

But such scheming was a given even among the Lower Houses. Take the coming-of-age ball being thrown that very night in a world away from sunny Arlathan.

Anbanal, center of the Banal’rasan, hardly saw the sun let alone knew of the eclipse. The Void had claimed the area for its own, letting life overtake and swallow the land until there was naught but shadows in the old swamp. Spirits were seldom seen, not even demons cared to touch the area—a remnant of the Scourge’s legacy, people said.

Whether or not that was true was academic; the Veil to the Beyond was thinner there, but unlike the _Adahlen’dinathe_ (forest of the dead), it did not attract spirits. Another Veil was thin, letting the Void’s magic leak into the world…Never letting the People forget the swamp’s dark history even for a night of celebration…

*****

Within the oldest tree of the swamp, the one that gave rise to the others, lay Ras’an: the seat of power of the Banal’rasan. Its structure wove in and around the old tree, balconies overlooking the whole city below. Pathways wove between branches, reaching into smaller trees with smaller buildings. Near the base were sprawling gardens where fruits for the city were grown.

Higher still, hidden by the boughs, the castle grew from the tree. Crystals glowed gently, forming windows and walls from the twisted bark’s frame. Magic covered the large pool of water held within the tree’s middle, forming a ground floor for the castle. Within the many high reaching branches lay hallways and rooms, some so disconnected from each other an eluvian was needed to travel between them.

In the grand ballroom floating above the swamp’s waters, music could be heard through the crystalline walls. A thousand magical orbs floated through the air, like fireflies or will-o-the-wisps, weaving through a small gathering of nobles. Masks hid their faces, as was the custom at these coming-of-age balls. Only the newest member of court was bare-faced, so that the courts may see them for the first time.

It wasn’t as fine as what you could find in loftier halls, the masks just a little too cheap or gaudy to be of true High society. The clothes were just slightly unfit for their wearers. But the politics were just as deadly.

Something the newest member of court had to learn very quickly. Adahla Lavellan, heiress of House Lavellan, had just finished her grueling apprenticeship under Lavellan’s Assassin Master, as her mother had before her. She would start a very different path starting that night, one just as bloody.

All these people, drinking and smiling behind masks, they were here not to wish her luck, but the appraise her, sniff out a weakness…And leave a marriage contract. It was the start of her adult life, after all, and that meant she was now eligible to accept spouses. Expected to anyway.

She did not wish to, of course. She would rather wait for some knight or cunning rogue to give her an heir, if her younger self had anything to say about it. However, unlike some of the more frivolous members of court, she did not have the luxury of flights of fancy.

The Banal’rasan produced very little in the way of food or trade. The waters prevented crops, and the wildlife was poisonous more often than not. Pelts and a few types of fish were about all the swamp would give them…not enough to sustain an economy on. They trained the best assassins of the Elvhenan, but that was hardly enough for trade agreements.

So it fell upon the rulers of the Banal’rasan to secure alliances for trade. It was their duty and honor, to hear the Archivists tell it. Often this meant marriages, the bearing of heirs for minor lords or lower nobility. Adahla was told she had at least five half-siblings throughout the western Empire, though she was the only one to still bear the name Lavellan.

Such was to be her fate.

She frowned into her cup of wine. Bad wine, she might add. Whatever lord gifted them this should be shivved before dawn for such an insult. He couldn’t part with a mediocre wine, or sub-par one. He had to give the shittiest one away.

Or maybe it just tasted foul because of her mood. She couldn’t enjoy the glittering lights forming light prisms all around her or the beautiful music drifting over the chatter. She could only see faceless people clamoring for some kind of favor.

A tap on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. Adahla turned towards the intruder, frown still on her face. A tall man smiled at her softly. He brushed a misplaced strand of ebony hair away as he bowed.

“Might I tempt you with a dance, my lady?” He asked. The strand fell back into his eyes—an unusual golden color—as he looked up at her. His voice betrayed a plains accent, a softer lilt to the tone than her own.

She glanced him over as one would a fine steed. He wore an ivory half-mask. No jewels or obscene feathers adorned it, just simple scale carvings to make it look like a wyvern. Though simple, it was extraordinarily crafted. His suit as well.

Delicate lace of a soft off-white created his shirt, the hue just a touch too pale to match his skin. A well-fitted overcoat swayed around his ankles where ivory jewelry hid the edges of his leather leggings. More ivory adorned his wrists hidden by the coat’s long flowing sleeves. Lace gloves hid his palms, but not the delicate pointed nails he sported.

Adahla set her glass down on a passing servant’s tray. Her pale orange eyes bore into the stranger’s easy smile. “I suppose I will allow you to distract me for a song,” she gave as though it was such a chore. His smile grew wider, whether from malice or mirth she could not say. The mask seemed to be impeding her ability to read his intentions…probably purposefully.

Still, she placed her hand into his outstretched one and was lead onto the dance floor. They bowed to each other before beginning the slow circling of the waltz. As they stepped in time with the minstrels, she tried to determine who this man was.

Alas, she could not pin a face to a name. The eyes were not quite right…like they did not belong on him. The mask itself also did not seem to belong to him. She almost thought it to be enchanted to trick anyone gazing at it into seeing a face that wasn’t his.

“If I am to dance with you, might I know your name?” She asked, as though completely bored with the conversation already.

The man chuckled, a deep sound that put her neck hairs on end. “Oh come now,” he tutted, “your history tutor must be halfway to _Uthenera_ now.” He smiled, flashing a long fang. “Look closely, little queen, you should know me…” He stepped up behind her in the dance. “Or well your **House** knows mine…intimately in fact.”

She glared at him from the corner of her eye. She knew all the Houses that had sent someone to this little soiree. Not a one would have such a snake charmer in their ranks, let alone allow him to represent them. He would be more at home in the black markets near the water’s edge than a noble house.

He stepped back around her, placing a hand on her waist and pulling her close. His smile had a wicked edge to it now. She opened her mouth to tell him off, but quickly snapped it closed. The mask shimmered like a mirage, letting her see behind it for just a moment.

Eyes of a feral dragon, bright green of wraiths warred with deep crimson of fresh blood, watched her carefully as they swayed. Eyes that haunted the Memories, that heralded chaos and madness.

“The Scourge,” was all she hissed. House Lavellan was indeed intimately familiar with that bloodline. They may have even been the only House to have some record of the Scourge within their Archives and Memories.

Each child was taught the Scourge bestowed the blessing of shadows upon the Lavellans and they used it to overthrow and kill him. It was how they were given their House. It was something they took great pride in.

There were even Memories of him still, though only the blazing colors of his eyes remained, the rest was cloaked in shadows. Perhaps by decree of the Sun King, perhaps the spirits themselves cloaked his memory. Perhaps the Void was to blame. Whatever the case was, she doubted anyone save her House would recognize this man for what he was.

The stranger chuckled. “Very good, little queen. You saved your tutor from an early grave.” He seemed…unperturbed. As though it didn’t matter she knew him for his blood. Like she couldn’t just scream ‘Scourge-blood, Void-born’ and have his head.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t sic the guard on you,” she growled.

He didn’t even flinch as he spun her around. “I have not done anything to you.” He looked around the dancefloor. “Beyond dance with you.” His eyes glanced at her, a smirk pulling at his lips once more. “And I’d like to think my dancing skills are not so egregious they warrant my head coming off.”

“What are you doing here?” Adahla checked the other dancers around her. None of them seemed to realize a demon was in their midst. Almost as though…yes she heard the strange humming of silence wards. She noted them glittering about the ivory on his hands, effectively trapping them in a bubble of silence as they danced.

“Dancing with you, obviously.”

“I care not for your tongue, demon.”

He pouted, clicking his tongue. “And here I thought we were getting along so well…” He sighed dramatically. “Oh well.” He looked around at the dancers himself. “I always dreamed of coming to one of these things when I was a child. Have to say I expected better drinks.”

Adahla could hear her teeth grind together. “It was a bad vintage yes.” She paused to unclench her jaw. “You expect me to believe you came on nothing more than a childhood whim?”

“I expect nothing, little queen.” He shrugged, turning back to her. “The image you have of me in your head matters very little to me.”

“Unless it happens to be of your head severed from your body?”

He twirled her once more, pulling her back so they were facing the same way. “People will always think of me as a demon, so there’s little point in crying about it,” he whispered into her ear. “But truly, idle curiosity is all I’m guilty of this evening.”

“I find that hard to believe. Demons are always scheming something.” Adahla focused her eyes ahead of them. She would be lying if she didn’t find this conversation…stimulating. Very few enjoyed trading verbal barbs, even fewer would dare to do so with an assassin. Yet this man, who should be at least a little wary of her, did so with very little decorum getting in the way.

“Hmm,” he hummed, a bemused smile spreading across his lips. “The same could be said of assassins, could it not?”

As she spun around, the pace of the dance began to pick up. Other people’s robes and dresses brushed against her own as they wove around the floor. She studied the man in front of her once more.

“I suppose.” She would give him that round. He had such long eyelashes, just as dark as his hair that seemed to swallow all the light around him. She couldn’t see much of his face, but the slight slant to his eyes and the sharp jawbone suggested he would be gorgeous. Like a poisonous flower.

She waited a few more steps before trying another verbal dance. “You could’ve come, drank, and left without ever revealing yourself to me and risking me calling the guard.”

“True, but it seems rather rude to ignore you when this **is** your party, no?” He chuckled.

“A demon with manners, how quaint.”

“An assassin with a forked tongue, how original.”

Adahla snorted. “I doubt you would risk your pretty little head—”

“You think I’m pretty? Well how forward of you, little queen.” The man grinned as she tried to flay him alive with her eyes. He chuckled gleefully at her disdain.

“So no ulterior motive?” She growled.

“Just idle curiosity…” He looked around. “I wondered just what it would be like to be a noble, if only for a night…” He sounded so wistful, as though describing a long held dream. “It is quite loud.”

“The music?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. Over the chatter of those watching the dance, the music could just barely be heard.

“No, the people…” He cocked his head to the side. “They are all scheming, plotting, twisted hearts dripping in venom.” He blinked as though coming back into himself. “All this gilding to hide such corrupted souls seems like such a waste.”

She cocked her head to the side. For a moment, he sounded like a spirit. The far off look his eyes held seemed pained and saddened. As though being around these schemes physically hurt him. The way his ears twitched subtly told her he may not be lying about hearing it all.

“Welcome to court, Ser…” she trailed off with a raise of an eyebrow.

“The stars named me Sulendys, my lady.”

“They have a sense of humor.”

He chuckled. “That they do.” He glanced around them once more. “Is this what parties at the Sun Palace are like?” He suddenly asked, with all the curiosity of a young child. Adahla frowned.

“I wouldn’t know.” The Lavellans were never invited to many parties. Apart from it being bad form to invite assassins, they held very little power within the Empire. Just the swamp and marshes no one else wanted.

“Ah, I forget, House Lavellan is new blood in the Lower Houses, is it not?” Sulendys sighed. He gave her a sympathetic frown. “It must be maddening to kill an Emperor and still be looked down upon.”

Adahla clenched her jaw, trying to keep her face from betraying her. He hit her family’s sore spot in one go. They were the ones that helped kill the Scourge all those centuries ago. Yet they were nothing more than slaves still to most of the Houses.

“Perhaps.” She spoke quietly, not wanting to give him much more than that. Giving a Void-born a weakness would spell her doom. She took a deep breath. “It matters little what they all think. We were given this House by the Sun King himself.”

He smiled. “Yes, quite true…” she sensed a but coming. “Though he didn’t give you much apparently.”

She narrowed her eyes as he lifted her by her waist. “Speak plainly if you wish to keep your tongue.” This dance was starting to reach its end, dancers barely avoiding each other’s bodies in their steps.

“I only mean that…” He paused as though trying to pick his words carefully. He looked around. “For all the sparkling titles the Sun gave you, you still are forced to sell your womb for your House to survive.”

Adahla’s eyes widened, a sharp pain streaking through her chest. Sulendys’s ears pinned back for a moment as though hearing some distasteful note. Then his expression softened. She tried to keep her melancholy from earlier off her face, yet she could feel it slipping through.

She would have one child, preferably a daughter, to carry on her name, but…She would bear as many lords’ children as contracts she could acquire before her womb withered. All so that her House and her people did not starve. House Lavellan were still nothing more than prized slaves to the Emperor, even if they did wear crowns now.

Her eyes hardened as she refocused herself. “As though you would know anythi—”

“Ah yes what would I know of hardship? Of being judged based on my bloodline?” Sulendys rolled his eyes. “I know better than these prancing idiots just how deep some hatreds go.” He looked her dead in her eyes. “To the Great Houses you’ll never be more than a slave, I no more than a demon, such is their blindness. But it is that blindness that presents such ample opportunity, does it not?”

She snorted. “I suppose it depends on what that opportunity is.”

“Do you not grow tired of this gilded cage with the masters holding your studded leash?” Sulendys frowned. “Wouldn’t you like to not have to rely on how many babes you can create to keep your people fed?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then why don’t you break free?”

Such a simple question. Why did she think she had to follow the tradition of whoring herself out to whoever made a decent trade agreement? Duty? Honor? What good were duty and honor when famine hit two winters ago? They didn’t put food on people’s tables nor gold in the coffers.

Why did she play their game then? House Lavellan served the Shadow King as assassins, and they killed him when he became unfit to hold their leash. Now, they trained assassins and knights for other kingdoms in exchange for meager trade. They had an agent in almost every court, yet they were bound?

She stared into the eyes of a dragon. He was manipulating her with words, she knew that. He wanted something out of her, but if she could stay a few steps ahead of him…

She could break her leash.

*****Months Later*****

“Well, well, well,” echoed around the dark room. “Consider me impressed, little queen.”

Adahla glanced around at the little hovel. It was sparse, just a little table with a stool and a bed in one corner. A hearth sat in the middle of the room, embers still glowing under a hanging pot.

Why was she there again?

Ah yes, because she didn’t want to be breeding stock for nobles who thought themselves so much more important than anyone else. And the enigmatic shadow rising from the bed and slinking towards her promised he would help with that. She was still waiting to hear what he gained from this, but so long as she didn’t allow any of his shadows into her heart, she wouldn’t have to fear him manipulating her.

And so she came to this…quaint little village not far from Anbanal. It was raised on stilts just above the swamp’s dark waters and smelt of moss and carrion. It might have traded in pelts and fish, but she couldn’t say for sure.

The people didn’t pay her any mind, probably used to strangers in dark cloaks coming and going all the time. A few beggars pointed her towards this hovel in the middle of the village. As though they knew to expect her…or perhaps all the dark cloaked strangers came for Sulendys.

“I frankly thought you would return to…domesticated life once we parted ways, yet here you are…” Sulendys chuckled as he stopped in front of the hearth. “I’d offer you a chair, but I’m afraid it doesn’t have silk threads.”

“I hope I’m not here long enough to have to sit.” She eyed the stool warily. “It doesn’t even seem like it could hold a person.” One of its legs was a bit shorter than the others, like it was missing a chunk of wood.

Sulendys looked at the stool. “Holds me just fine.” He shrugged before walking three steps to the right and leaning against the wall. “But fine, we’ll skip the tea.”

“Please, this place reeks of fish guts and rotting plants.”

“It grows on you.”

“I don’t wish to give it a chance to infect me with such stench,” Adahla growled. “You said to come to you should I wish to escape my collar; here I am, now talk before I activate my knight’s charm.”

Sulendys didn’t even flinch. “Nobles actually have charms to call their guards?” He seemed genuinely curious about it, like a child. She blinked. This was the Scourge’s legacy?

“Some do, yes, mostly for when we tell them to stay out of our sight.” She gave slowly, unsure why this was relevant.

“Ah so you have a guard nearby.” A wicked smile took over the childish curiosity instantly. She felt as though she had fallen for a trap… “Good to know.”

“Let’s skip…whatever this passes for, shall we?” She sighed. She shifted, pulling her cloak closer. The air felt colder…emptier here. Even in the swamp, one could always feel a current of magic dancing through the air like a breeze. But here in this house?

There were none. It was completely still. Something else took the magic’s place, something she could feel, but not feel. Like eyes on her back…Her skin shivered.

“If you wish.” Sulendys shrugged one shoulder. She could actually see his face now that it wasn’t behind a mask. His eyes still unnerved her, as they were designed to she imagined, but…he wasn’t hideous to look at. He was a bit feminine, narrower face, a more slender body, he would fit right in with a Dancer’s Guild. She tore her eyes away when she started noticing his lack of shirt and undone stays on his trousers.

He chuckled at her, but didn’t say a word to the blush creeping onto her cheeks. Would it kill him to have some manners?

“I suppose I will cut to the chase, then.” He pushed off the wall. The air tensed as though a predator had just awoken. He fixed her with his draconic gaze. “You don’t wish to be under someone’s thumb, or well under some lord for the rest of your childbearing days anyway.”

Adahla took a deep breath ignoring his crassness. “I would prefer to have some power yes.”

“And I’m tired of living like a rat hiding from a flea-bitten stray. Seems to me we would stand more to gain together than apart.”

She crossed her arms, holding his gaze. “How so? I stand to lose more helping you, after all.”

Sulendys smiled…fangs glittered in the low light. Little shards of lights flashed around his skin for a moment before disappearing. “You have assassins in every court of the Great Houses, yes?”

She nodded.

“But even if you were to say…have them kill whatever High Royalty they came across chances are the people would rebel and behead you if the Sun King didn’t get around to it first.” He took a step forward. “But perhaps there’s a way to get the people on your side, or even get the nobles to bow to you before the Sun King even catches wind.”

Adahla tilted her head. “Who said I wanted to take out the noble Houses?” She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps I just want my holdings to be secure without all the contracts.”

Sulendys snorted. “Then you are far less ambitious than I thought.” Still, he shrugged. “If that’s all you want, then there are ways to manipulate people into giving you what you want, not all of them involving sex.”

“Blood magic?”

He rolled his eyes. “Blood magic commands the body, what you need is to command the heart.” He took another step forward. “Command the body and the heart will fight you every step, but command the heart? The body will follow willingly.”

She hummed to herself as she looked down in thought. She wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t like the idea of being able to bend people to her will. Tearing down the old Houses also called to her. Perhaps they had been in power for too long, and did her House not come to power by killing those that thought them lesser?

“And you know how to do this I take it?” She kept her face neutral even as he stopped in front of her. She looked up just as he looked down. Neither would give the other any hint of what they were thinking. Adahla knew the moment she let down her guard, he would be trying to get his shadows into her heart.

“Less of knowing how and more of just being able to, really,” Sulendys chuckled. “My line is uniquely gifted in Void magic. We can bend even the mightiest of kings to our will.”

“Yet your line was dethroned,” Adahla pointed out, hoping to see him flinch.

He did not, his smile just grew. “True, my line is not…suited for royal life sadly.”

“So what is it that you get out of this?”

“Well, not being hunted would be a nice start.” He winked as though sharing an old joke. “I’ll take just having a nice apartment in the palace too.”

She cocked a pale eyebrow. “That’s it?” She did not believe for one second he only wanted an apartment and not being hunted. There was something he was hiding.

Sulendys put his hands behind his head and leaned back on one foot. “Is that strange? To want freedom and a home?”

“That seems too small a reward for someone like you…”

“For a demon you mean,” Sulendys gave. He seemed unfazed by her skepticism. “Perhaps it is small, I’ll probably think of something better when you leave, but…” He looked away from her, to the one small window. Nothing but blackness could be seen passed the room’s reflection. His eyes grew distant. “My whole childhood was spent moving from place to place, village after village spitting on me and my mother. Always hiding from something, never getting used to a house. I would dream of a little house somewhere where no one could find us…”

He turned back to her, a sad, wistful smile on his face. “It may be simple to you, but I have never wanted anything more than a home.”

Adahla tried very hard not to let her guard drop. He was showing too much vulnerability, she thought. He was trying to trick her. Yet she couldn’t really tell if he was lying or not…Her brain said he was, but…it just felt true.

“So for a nice home, you’ll do what exactly? Be my court jester?” She kept her snark, hiding her conflicting feelings easily.

He snorted. “Your mother would kill me on sight.”

“Oh I don’t know, she doesn’t like being under anyone’s thumb either.” She paused. “Though she might kill you out of principle.”

He gestured like ‘exactly’.

“Then how are you going to charm all the Great Houses? Write them a scented letter from your moldy shack?” She gestured at the room with no small amount of disgust wrinkling her nose.

“I am one person, little queen. And the Great Houses are quite skilled at protecting themselves.” He smiled. “If you want to wait a few thousand years or so, I’m sure I can manage it though.”

“So what then?”

He cocked his head with a smile. He looked far more boyish like that, despite the sinister glint in his eyes. “Imagine for a moment that there were more Void-born…”

Ah, there it is. “You want an heir.”

He shrugged. “You were going to give some lord an heir anyway; at least you get more out of my bargain.” He smiled wider, flashing a bit of fang at her. She didn’t feel amused. “Come now, don’t glare at me. Think about it, you get an heir capable of getting you to the Sun Throne, or at least enough trade agreements to not have to sell your womb like fine wine.”

“And you get an heir as well.” Adahla finished.

“Well being the last of your bloodline isn’t much fun, let me tell you.” He laughed at himself.

“And how do I know you won’t turn this child on me?”

He looked impressed, but probably was being sarcastic. So hard to tell with this jester. “If you are worried about that, then you could always have my mother train them, I could just be on hand to…handle the trickier spells.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, neither of us have any guarantee the other will backstab us.”

So his mother was still alive? And could train the demon-spawn? That was good information. Her brain began to whirl with plans. If the Void-born could indeed corrupt hearts, manipulate them into whatever shape they wished…she could raise an entire army easily.

But she didn’t trust Sulendys to only want a child and a home. He was after something else. She would bet her life on it. What it was, she couldn’t say. Perhaps he wanted the Sun Throne back, perhaps the tales of the Scourge wanting to end the world were true.

“So we have to trust each other?” She scoffed.

“Eh…” He made a so-so gesture. “Trust is too strong a word probably. Never trust an assassin and all that.”

“Never converse with a demon and all that…” Adahla countered.

Sulendys snorted at that. “A demon happens to be very trustworthy; they’ll uphold their end of the bargain to the letter.” He smirked. She got the feeling he was implying something.

“So I have your heir, raise it, and then what?” She asked. “And how am I going to conceal a Void-born? You are pretty distinctive.” She motioned towards his face.

He batted his eyelashes at her. “Whatever do you mean, little queen?”

“The eyes are a dead giveaway.”

“True, but only your House should recognize them.” He leaned in a little as though sharing a secret. “And I have not lived this long without learning a few tricks to throw people off my scent.”

She recalled how they met. He didn’t feel this…Void-touched then. If it were not for the glamour of the mask not being completely perfect, she might never have thought twice about him. And as she noted before, her House was perhaps the only one left with knowledge of the Scourge, as well as Memories of him.

“And how do you suggest we go about this…?” She motioned between them.

Sulendys chuckled at her apparent modesty. “Arrangement?” He supplied. Then he put a finger to his chin in thought. “From what I hear you nabbed a nice little contract with one of the Houses on the plains…” he looked over at his bed. “We could…start our arrangement now, you go sleep with your new husband and once the Void touches the child, I’ll swoop in to teach them.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “The child will look nothing like either me or him,” she pointed out. Her hair was purest white, her spouse’s was a pale orange, both a far cry from the impossible black of Sulendys’s line. The eyes were another matter all together.

“True, but this place is laden with the Scourge’s legacy; it is not unheard of a child being touched by the Void at random…” His eyes pierced hers. “And you Lavellans have a stronger tie to the legacy than most, don’t you?”

She snorted. “I might be able to convince Mother to let the child live…” She glanced at the rickety old bed before looking back at Sulendys. “You seem awfully confident this will be a one-night thing.”

Sulendys took a few steps backwards, coyly motioning her to follow. “I mean we can draw it out into several nights if you wish…”

She smiled as she went to him. Not out of happiness or excitement, but because she was already thinking of how to remove him from the picture. She could convince her mother of the benefits, she was sure of it. Her ‘husband’ mattered little, after all. She would just have to scream and play the part of victim for the masses and the Sun King’s forces would come running.

*****

Sulendys laughed as he was forced to his knees. Blades pierced his skin where the edges pressed against him. Knights surrounded him as the two royals entered his little hut.

“Did my welcome impress you, my lord?” He chuckled as he stared up into eyes of turquoise and purple. Leanos Ivun, just another golden paladin pretty boy playing pretend, looked down on him like he would a bug. Beside him stood the laughably meek Adahla Lavellan. A sword pressed deeper into his arm in warning. The knights all seemed rather shook…and quite bloody. Well, he didn’t want to make it too easy for them to come grab him, did he? And what’s one little village to the Emperor?

“What did you do to them?” Leanos hissed. The air thickened, magic being drawn to him. Sadly for him, there was no regular magic here. Just Void. His knights shuddered, their swords moving across Sulendys’s flesh as they tried to remain on their feet. The Sun King took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Nothing, just some odd jobs. Not my fault I have a winsome smile people can’t resist.” Sulendys flashed said smile, though it was far more threatening than charming. “Just ask the little queen there.”

Adahla shrunk back as though **she** was frightened. Sulendys could only hear smug pride in her song, like she thought for a moment she was one step ahead of him. He laughed again. She might have changed the game, but she still played right into his hands.

“Take him to _Laimsen’an_ …” Leanos barked.

“Sir?” one of the knights squeaked. “Should we not just kill him?”

“And let this cycle keep repeating?” He shook his blond head sadly. “No, we will figure this mystery out one way or another.” He gave a signal for shackles to be brought over to Sulendys. No song came from the cold metal. Oh ho ho, the dwarves had certainly been busy making those…

As they snapped around his wrists, he felt the Void burrow into his heart. He felt the storm inside start to rage against its bindings, just a small promise of what would come. He staggered to his feet as a collar was fastened around his neck.

His eyes met the soft dawn ones surrounded by frost-like lashes. He smiled, letting his markings blackened. With what little Void he could draw on, primarily the little sliver of his power she now held, he pushed against her mind until her third eye opened to him.

 _‘Well played, little queen…_ ’ he whispered in her mind, pinning her to her spot with his eyes. ‘ _But we will see who keeps their head at the end of this little game._ ’

*****

The world stirred once more. A rumble of thunder echoed above the trees. The swamp grew darker, the dancing magelights brightening to fight against the storm. Rain fell through the tops of the trees as a wave, crashing over the city within the tree’s branches. No spirits walked the pathways crisscrossing over the waters, no person peeked out from their homes.

A bad omen, many would say. The world too dark, too heavy with the storm to bring anything but bad tidings. Though life did not stir, the Void did as lightning flashed between the trees.

In the highest tower that peeked over the top of the swamp, lay the royal quarters. Where the Void seemed to have gathered bringing a storm with it.

Cries of labor were locked away within the thick crystal walls. As were the cries of a newborn babe. Adahla panted on her bed, white hair stuck to her face from sweat. Eyes of dawn glared at the small child as it was taken away. Not with malice, but a cold calculation one reserved for chess or war.

Nolahra watched her with piercing blue eyes as she began cleaning the newborn—her grandson she supposed. Though he looked nothing like her son. His hair was as pale as the moonlight, his features softer, even his cries were quieter.

The only mark of who his blood father was lay in the palm of his left hand: a black mark, a Void mark.

Queen Sylasha strode into the room, her aged eyes falling upon the small babe before looking to her daughter. She brushed passed Nolahra, a literal chill grazing her shoulder. ‘And they call me a Swamp Witch’, Nolahra grumbled to herself.

She cleaned the blood from the child’s pale skin. Another person entered the room. She glanced over at the man. Ishalentarasylnin, current consort of Princess Adahla and second prince of House Tyrlanelden, looked as stormy as his namesake suggested. Rose colored eyes narrowed at Adahla, suspicion and distaste flickering behind them.

Then he looked to the crying newborn. Nolahra held the babe close to her chest, as though that might shield him from the ire building in the room. Rather than go to his wife, Isen stepped closer to Nolahra.

“Best to drown it, be rid of it and its cursed blood,” Sylasha growled as she looked down at her daughter.

Adahla snorted. “Or make the best of it.”

Nolahra looked at the two with suspicion. She knew her son had not raped the princess as the story went. He was far too cunning, or rather in control of his blood, to fall prey to baser instincts. And Adahla was far too ruthless and conniving to allow herself to be taken so violently. The Lavellans were assassins after all, and assassins never let others get the upper hand unless they wanted it so.

Still, what could she hope to gain from bearing the Scourge’s bloodline? The Council had already taken Sulendys into custody, and presumably knew of Adahla’s pregnancy. Were they just going to allow her to keep the child?

“Simple, _Mamae_ , we break the beast…” Adahla answered some question Nolahra did not hear. “Even a demon of Pride can be bound.”

She swallowed, holding the child tight.

She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. The child whimpered quietly in her arms. She looked up at Isen. The displeasure in his eyes was still apparent, but so was curiosity. “His hair is white…” he whispered to her.

The Scourge bloodline—none could remember the actual House’s name now—bore signature traits, as with all of the Great Houses’ lines: green and red eyes, the black mark, and black hair. This child had the black mark, and what little she could see of his eyes they were indeed green, but he lacked the black hair.

Why? She could not say. Perhaps it was a sign the Void hadn’t completely claimed his blood. Perhaps it was random happenstance. That he cried was also strange. Sulendys never cried, he just opened his eyes and stared like he understood everything.

Isen moved to look at the child’s face. His fingers brushed against the dark mark until little fingers closed around them. He glanced up at Nolahra.

“He is crying as well,” she whispered back to him. “Void-born do not cry.” She looked down at the babe. “Something is different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if it explains the circumstances very well, or Adahla/Sulendys's reasoning, but hopefully it's a start. I mostly just wanted to use the line: "We will see who keeps their head"...and if you've read Nothing, then you should know who won in the end.
> 
> Oh and yes I realize it's a shitty thing for Adahla to cry rape when it wasn't just to get Sulendys out of the way, but she's a shitty person, so not sure what you expected?


	3. Eyes of Void (Mahviiral)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May the Stars forever shine in your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to chant the beginning poem like small children holding hands and skipping in a circle...that was the vibe I went for. DA does not have enough creepy children rhymes.

_Green and Red/_ _Should be dead_

_Eyes of Void/_ _Heart devoid_

_Black the Mark/_ _Brings the Dark_

_Blood of men/_ _Flows again_

_Spare us now/_ _We will bow_

_Scourge will come/_ _Kill the Sun_

“The stars above have blessed us with knowing you,” the High Priest spoke softly as he cradled the babe in his arms. Isen couldn’t tell if the priest truly believed the words he spoke, or if he was just doing the usual script. He was rather convincing, though that could be due to the complete face veil they wore. “Let them reveal to us your name, _da’lin_.”

Isen watched as the babe was lowered into a small pool of water in House Lavellan’s solarium. The stars glittered above them, the moon shining its light through the roof. Through the Priest’s spells, the blue light shone directly on the pool of water.

The moonlight shimmered and shifted. Specks of light began to dance around them all. They moved and spun into place, recreating what Isen assumed was the stars on the night of the babe’s birth. At least that was what happened usually. Certain stars would glow brightly, and then the Priest would read their intent or prediction for the child’s life.

Or, well…they should.

Isen noted quickly that even as the Priest guided the stars into the room, many blinked out entirely. The Priest, for his part, didn’t let the calm serenity fall from his face. He glanced down at the babe in the water, one hand holding his face above the surface. As though the child knew what he was doing.

The stars spun around them, faster and faster as though they could not find the child’s place in their weave. But beyond that, Isen noted their hue change from icy blue of night, to fiery golden of day. He furrowed his eyebrows. That **really** shouldn’t happen.

The room grew quiet as it descended into chaos. The Priest looked around as though just as confused as the others. Again, Isen couldn’t tell what his facial expression was, but he was looking around, so he was either fascinated or confused. Or both.

A baby’s giggle snapped all their attention to the starbath. He at least seemed entertained, Isen noted. The babe splashed the Priest. If it weren’t for the kaleidoscope of stars spinning around them, it might have been charming.

Then he opened his eyes.

The stars stopped. Golden specks of light hung around them, motes of magic dust falling from them. A subtle gasp came from the Priest. Ah, so Adahla didn’t forewarn the High Priests who they’d be blessing. Though, Isen doubted they would’ve came otherwise.

The babe and the Priest seemed to be locked in a staring contest. Then the Priest looked around at the stars. With his free hand, he waved and sent out a pulse of magic. Certain stars lit up with white flames. Very few, Isen noted, but the first one was perhaps the most curious.

The Northern Star, reserved usually for High Royalty, meant great power and of course responsibility. Those blessed under its light were often the greatest in their fields, and most beloved by their people.

Then the second star: one that sometimes could be seen next to the sun. That star was reserved for House Ivun for it was as bright as the sun in the night. The Guide, said to be the soul of the first Sun King, watched over all day and night. Some said it even called the Sun to rise and set.

The other stars were probably linked to House Lavellan in some way, thus Isen didn’t know their significance. He merely watched the Priest read the stars. His magic drew lines for constellations before another pulse caused some to alight.

Of course, the first one to show itself was the Scourge. Shaped like a crescent moon with a skull, it symbolized the Void both as its presence in this world—the moon—and its effect—death. Perhaps before the First War, it was a symbol of balance, but now it meant dark times.

The second one, however, was the Sun: an eye inside the sun with a crescent moon holding it aloft. Meant to symbolize prosperity and peace, a triumph over the Void’s long hand of death and corruption, as the moon being below the sun would suggest.

It was strange to have both the Void and the Sun. Well, he corrected, it was odd for this child to have the Sun. The Scourge constellation made sense given who his bloodfather was. But the Sun? That was beyond odd.

It was unheard of.

Finally, the Priest snapped his fingers and the stars fell from the sky. The moonlight shot back up to the ceiling. The mechanisms began to move and soon the blackened room was once more bathed in soft light, less concentrated though.

The Priest lifted the babe back into his arms. He traced a symbol that only his Order understood upon the babe’s forehead. It lit up once before fading into his skin.

“Welcome, Mahviiral, may your journey to tomorrow be ever lit with the stars of your birth.”

*****

Of course, such a lovely name did not sit well with Queen and Princess. Oh no, apparently having a nice name was frowned upon by assassins. At least that’s what Isen assumed was the cause of them choosing a rather tasteless blood name. Banal’ras’iroth, swift shadow, while it fitted the idea of an assassin, it clashed harshly against the stars’ peaceful name. Even its sound was harsh. At least, Mahviiral was melodic.

Though, Isen also guessed Adahla chose that particular name for a worse reason. He frowned as he watched yet another nursemaid scurry out of the nursery. Adahla had taken to shortening it to Banal. Not Ras as one would normally. Not even Banal’ras or Baras, but Banal. Nothing.

He sighed, rolling his shoulders to try and turn his thoughts away. He had no say in the blood name as he was not of his blood. Thus, he couldn’t change it. Best to focus on things within his control, and far more important.

He pushed off the wall he was propped against to watch the nursemaids. The servants paid him no mind; they hardly looked up from the ground enough to even know what he looked like he’d wager. So, he had a pretty good idea what was going on.

He had noticed Mahviiral crying many times, which isolated is just what babes do. It was the fact that the crying only stopped when he fell asleep that concerned him. So he had decided to go see. He was Adahla’s “husband”, so he had every right to be in the nursery after all.

He glanced around what must have been a disused room they stuck a crib in. There was a fine layer of dust, a sign the spells keeping the castle clean were not wasted here, over all the dressers and tables. The small bathing tub and crib were about the only things not gray.

While the rest of the castle had gilded white archways and crystalline walls that glittered with sapphires and amethysts, this room had cracking pillars more yellow than a beggar’s last tooth and murky crystal walls. Tattered—or at least ratty—curtains blew in the breeze from the single openable window.

The floor was rough wood rather than the magic walkways the rest of the house boasted. He wouldn’t let a rat walk on it, to be honest. He picked up his long flowing robe as he went to still crying babe.

The crib looked thousands of years old, made of some tree that was probably long gone now. It wasn’t a nice crib, but it at least looked sturdy. The bark was mangled and knotty like many trees of the swamp he was finding out. It probably had thick thorns before being made into a crib.

He pushed the faded ivory veil back from the top. Mahviiral wasn’t screaming, but he was wailing. He squirmed, face red up to the little tips of his ears. Isen looked him over. He was still so small, hardly gaining any weight. The last nursemaid changed him, so that wasn’t the issue. Which meant he was either tired or hungry.

As Isen had been in here for over two hours and not once did any of the nursemaids—of which there were ten—try to feed him, he was guessing it was the latter. Obviously Isen couldn’t do much about it personally.

He heard footsteps falter at the door. With a distinctly unimpressed look, he turned towards the noise. A young boy, perhaps three hundred or so, bowed low, almost touching his face to the ground.

“Uh, ah, _ir abelas_ , _hahren_ , but I-I’ve—uh I have a message. For you. Sir—uh my lord,” the boy stuttered and stumbled, his knocking knees almost toppling him. Isen stared at the mess of brown curls as that was the only thing he could see of his head.

“What’s the message?”

“Dinner will be held in the west wing in a few hours. The chef wan—wishes to know if you’ve—you have any requests…Sire.” Isen bit down a laugh as the boy winced for forgetting an honorific. Obviously the boy was still in training.

“Hmm…” Isen mumbled as Mahviiral let out another squall. He cooed down at him. “My don’t you sound like a little griffon…” He really did sound like a hatchling calling for supper. He paused and looked over at the boy. “Tell me, do you know how is Mahviiral’s wet nurse?”

The boy glanced up at that, but quickly darted his gaze back down. Lavellan servants are so skittish…

“The Lavellans don’t—uh they do not have the tradition…”

Isen frowned at that, eyes narrowing into pale pink slits at the wall. “Ah. I see.” He loosened his jaw. Well then. He turned to the crib and carefully picked Mahviiral up. “I do believe I am due some rest back home. Do send the chef my apologizes, but I will miss dinner.”

The boy kept his bow even as Isen strode passed him. “Uh, yessir.”

“And inform **Princess** Adahla that she won’t have to **bother** herself with Mahviiral.” If the boy understood the venom in his words, he didn’t let on. But he did scurry away so fast he slipped trying to turn the corner.

Should Isen be trying to tolerate her? Sure, they were allies now even if the first thing she did was essentially nullify the contract by sleeping with another man. His family was choosing to ignore that as she did not give Mahviiral her house’s name, thus Isen was free to adopt him. His family were not so keen on the idea, of course.

But they had yet to meet the screaming little bundle. They just knew he was Void-born, not that he cried and cooed like any other babe. Granted this was not the ideal situation, but ‘grow forever; never yield’ as his father liked to quote. It was the Tyrlanelden way.

So in a strange way, bringing the squalling child was perhaps the best thing he could do. Right? Well at the very least, his siblings get to have a headache right along with him. And that made him smile just a little.

*****

Almost immediately after stepping through the eluvian, Isen felt lighter. Perhaps it was the actual sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows. Perhaps it was the warm ambers and ivories of the floor tiles or the similar walls. Perhaps it was merely because he was home.

Two servants bustled in, polite bows, but nothing like the almost slave posture of House Lavellan. Both had well tailored vests of dark blue and dark leather leggings. The twins, one male and one female, lifted their sandy heads at almost the same time. Only difference was the simple wooden hairclip that bound the woman’s hair back. “Welcome home, my lord,” they said softly as they shifted into what he deemed ‘attentive stance’.

“Will you be staying for dinner?” the male asked.

“Shall we prepare your room?” his sister echoed.

“Yes, and a crib,” he motioned down to the slightly quieter crying baby. Perhaps he was tiring himself out again. Poor thing. The twins blinked at the white blanket in his arms but nodded.

“At once,” they chorused again.

“Send for the physician, as well. And where is Feli—ah nevermind, found her.” He felt a little tug inside his heart, a familiar thud-thud echoing inside. He nodded for the two to leave before heading for the living quarters.

He barely noticed his surroundings. Or rather there wasn’t much difference between most of the sections of Lanun'ven'ur'alas’an, all sections were warm in tone with plenty of light to make the spells dance with golds.

Plus, he was busy trying to go over his…vague at best, haphazard at worst, plan. He had thought about it many times since Mahviiral was born, but he gave too much credit to Adahla apparently and thought he didn’t need a failsafe. The crying babe in his arms would teach him to think highly of that family’s logic.

Thankfully, he had thought of an idea at the very least. While Felivetanin could not produce milk naturally due to the magics she used, there was some logic to suggest a doctor might be able to get her to. Theoretically. They did it for hired wet-nurses, he didn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t work on a shifter. At least, his basic knowledge of anatomy and healing magics suggested it had a slight chance to work.

He would have to find his family’s physician and see if she thought so too, but first…he would have to convince his bondmate to try. Easier said than done. Feli was as stubborn as she was strong. But Isen was as charming as he was mischievous. And his brothers still refuse to enter a room first if that tells you anything.

He turned right, striding down another corridor that opened up into a large sitting room. Felivetanin sat at one of the many tables around the edge of the room. Her armor and spear were placed on the table. Rags and jars of oil around them suggested she was cleaning them.

For a moment he stood still just happily taking in the sight of her pale ginger coils. A few months apart seemed to have made him lovesick. Of course, suffering the company of Adahla would make anyone seem lovely by comparison.

Isen cleared his throat. Her head snapped up, ears pinning back as her pale eyes hardened. The other heartbeat in his chest stuttered and spiked. Then she seemed to realize who had startled her. Her shoulders sagged as she let out a long breath.

“ _Enaste_ , Isen, I nearly threw my spear at you!” She chided. “I’m attaching a spirit bell around you, I swear.”

He chuckled. “You must have been deep in thought,” he noted. Feli was hard to sneak up on, yet Isen managed more often than not. She blamed it on their bond; I always feel you, she’d claim, so I don’t notice when you sneak up on me. It was one of many small things he loved.

“Or you weren’t due home for another week.” She narrowed her eyes again. “Tire that quickly of assassins?” While she understood why Isen had to have a marriage contract, she didn’t like him having to live in a den of backstabbers. Why his father picked House Lavellan she could only guess.

“I would tire of anyone other than you, _ma vhenan_.”

Feli rolled her eyes at his terrible lines. Still a smile tugged around her lips. “For I am the only company you wish to keep?” She finished. Isen had a love for sappy poetry and novels. She indulged him by letting him read to her while she practiced.

“My lady, have you been reading ahead?” Isen continued into the room. He noted Mahviiral had quieted completely. He looked down quickly. His face was no longer red, but looked no less distraught. His ears twitched, though, like something was tickling them. Odd.

“I missed you that much,” Feli giggled. She smiled, white fangs gleaming against her dark bronze skin. She faltered slightly as she took in the small bundle Isen was holding. “That’s…”

“Him, yes.” Isen stopped about a foot away from her. “Mahviiral, meet Felivetanin.” He smiled when Mahviiral’s eyes fluttered open, showing for a brief moment the brilliant green and red irises. He leaned in as though to whisper a secret. “You can call her Feli, she won’t mind.”

She snorted. “Only you get to call me that, _ma vhenin_ , and only because I know I can’t stop you.” Her gaze returned to the babe. “Why did you bring him here?” Her tone was clipped whether from anxiety or anger, he couldn’t quite tell. “Should he not be sleeping a pool of blood?”

Isen wasn’t too sure where that rumor came from honestly. He had yet to find any pool of blood in Ras’an let alone see one of them sleep in it. Of course, he never saw Queen Sylasha’s section of the castle, perhaps that was how she had ten children?

“No he sleeps in a crib…in a room I’m fairly certain was condemned last century.” Isen moved a chair behind him, magically pulling it from its table near the window. Feli’s table was full of weapons and armor after all. He sat down in front of her.

“And? I doubt the princess wants her…” Feli bit her tongue hard enough for Isen to get an echo of it. “Her child,” she said with more diplomacy than usual but still with steel in her voice, “far from her.”

Isen nodded. “No, I bet I’ll be getting an angry message later, but frankly she can drown in her swamp at this point.” He smiled sweetly, his tone quite chipper for the darkness of the words. He looked down at Mahviiral. “He’s been crying nonstop for a day now.”

Feli looked down. “He seems quiet now.”

Isen hummed in agreement. “I think…he’s listening.” Nolahra had said Sulendys would always be hearing things and he’d always get far too quiet and still when he did. Scared her to death, she said.

Mahviiral wasn’t really still; his ears twitch and he made little hiccup noises like he was trying to start crying again. But how his ears quivered made Isen think he was listening really hard on something only he could hear.

Feli sighed as she picked up her spear again and began to clean the tip. “Did you think sunshine would make him stop crying?”

“No…The personal quarters are above the tree line mostly.” Isen glanced up at her and found her doing the same.

“Why’d you bring him here?”

Well, first step…create an emotional hook. “I watched him for a bit. The nursemaids cleaned and changed him, but I never saw a wet nurse.” Felivetanin straightened from her hunch to angle the spearhead into the sun. She kept looking over at him though. Promising. “So I asked, if one had been acquired and the Lavellans have not employed one.”

“So the princess is the one feeding him?” Feli’s tone told him she was skeptical of that statement as well.

“If she is, then she’s not doing a good job.” He motioned to the babe in his arms. “He’s hardly gained any weight and cries constantly.” He clicked his tongue.

“And you brought him to me? Not a doctor?” Her hands started to slow in their task.

“I’ve sent for her as well.”

Feli narrowed her eyes, no doubt sensing him building towards something. “You know I don’t like it when you try your merchant-schemes on me.”

“Ah I have been snuffed out…” Isen chuckled. To be fair, Feli was a shrewd shopper. She tolerated no scheme, flattery, suspicious discount, long speech, nice smile, pretty face, or really any trick in the book. Yet she could get anything for at least half of the asking price.

She snorted. “You have the same strategy every time you want to ask me something you know I’m not going to like.” She rolled her eyes. She rose one finger. “Step one: emotional hook. Step two: hint at favor. Step three: flattery. Step four: beg.”

Isen pouted. “I don’t beg. A merchant prince never begs.”

“A good thing you aren’t in line for the throne then.”

“Harsh, _ma vhenan_ , harsh.” He chuckled as she shrugged.

She looked down at Mahviiral squeaking. “You know I can’t feed him.” He also sensed she was a bit apprehensive because he was Void-born. Just a guess from her wary stare. Like she was expecting him to shove shadows into her chest or something.

“If physicians can make wet-nurses able to, no reason why it shouldn’t work for you.” Isen gave a small smile.

Feli returned it was a flat look. “Shifting destroyed my… **those** organs, you know that.” She glanced to the side as though she was still worried about speaking of it. Her little village, of course, was far less…accepting than here though.

Isen leaned forward to meet her eyes. “Not destroyed, just dormant. Shocked, if you will.” He smiled again.

She sighed loudly. “You could hire a wet-nurse, Isen.” She pointed out. “Why waste time?”

He frowned. “I’m not; you are never a waste of my time, _ma vhenan_.” Mahviiral made an unhappy hiccup, interrupting him. Isen looked at him and back to her. “He needs a wet nurse, and I don’t trust anyone to not fall into Adahla’s web. But given your intolerance for bullshit…” That got her to chuckle. “We can at least ask _Hahren_ Rosha, see if she thinks I’m not crazy.”

She moved to closer to look at Mahviiral. Her eyes hid both pain and distaste as they watched him hiccup. Their unhappy expressions almost matched, but Isen chose to keep that particular comment to himself.

“His hair is white.” She stated simply.

“And he cries.”

“Babies do that, Isen.”

He chuckled a little. “Void-born don’t apparently. They usually just stare in a soul searching kind of creepy way.” He paused. “He sometimes does that too, to be honest, but let’s not focus too much on that.”

Felivetanin’s hand shook as she hesitated to touch his cheek. “His stars? I assume the Scourge showed up.” Isen did a mental victory shout when she touched his hand. Little black claws slowly grabbed her finger. They couldn’t pierce skin yet thankfully.

“Yes, but…” Isen leaned closer. “Also the Sun.” She looked up at him, blinking slowly. “And the North Star and the Guide.” His eyes bounced between hers. “He may be of that bloodline, but he’s not the Scourge’s heir.”

Felivetanin cocked an eyebrow. “Or he’s a late-bloomer. He doesn’t even have magic yet.” She pointed out. The Scourge was sane once as well, yet his story ended with blood all the same.

“Fair, but…” He pressed his forehead against hers. “Are monsters born or made?” He tried to will her to understand. Sure Isen should hate Mahviiral, want nothing more than to wash his hands of him. He should at the very least be afraid he was being manipulated.

But, he couldn’t.

Mahviiral was a babe, he had no say in who he was born to. He had no part in the deception and had done nothing wrong. He didn’t deserve to be punished for having bad blood, nor for his mother’s actions.

He deserved love and happiness just as much as any person. And Isen would be damned if he didn’t fight for Mahviiral’s chance. He knew Feli would fight for it too, if she could get passed the Scourge thing.

“He’s a babe, Feli,” Isen whispered. “He’s done nothing more than have strange eyes, is that any reason to condemn him to death?” Feli instinctively touched the corner of her own strange eyes. And the little raised scar that came from the corners. He moved back. “Besides, Nolahra—his other grandmother—said her son only turned when the hatred got too much.”

She held Mahviiral’s hand for a few more heartbeats. She sighed loudly once more, blowing a peachy coil out of her eyes. “I’m still not convinced I will be able to do anything.”

Isen smiled. “Don’t worry, _ma vhenan_.” He kissed her forehead softly. “I will have enough optimism for the both of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering when the next Nothing chapter will be out: soon. I'm two-thirds done and even then I may cut out a few bits and shorten it just because...eh not feeling some parts. We'll see. I plan to get it done before Sept 30th cause once Baldur's Gate 3 is out, I'm taking my time to enjoy that.


	4. Servant of Luck (Mahviiral)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence: Sulendys isn't an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated this is one of the divergence from Nothing canon. It's not _the_ major divergence, but it is _a_ divergence. In a way anyways. I mean it kinda derails the entire Nothing canon, but not really...you'll see.
> 
> Effective this chapter: I will no longer respond to anything unrelated to the story. Questions will be answered and thanks given; that will be it. I’m tired and anxious and mostly sick of being that way. Any hate will be deleted, an influx of it will see this story deleted. I’m done.

_If the Hunter hunts and the Monster hides,_

_Which of them deserves to die?_

They waited in the room for a little while afterwards. Isen was internally cackling like a madman when Feli took hold of Mahviiral. Let it never be said he wasn’t charming…or well Mahviiral was a cute baby, so that might have helped win her over.

She seemed fascinated with his tiny black claws and the dark mark on his left palm. It wasn’t just a birthmark, as it was pitch black rather than just a darker gold than his skin. To be honest, it looked a little like someone had took a calligraphy brush and swiped a line over his palm. What it meant, he couldn’t say.

Mahviiral, for the most part, seemed calm. He occasionally dazzled them with his bright green eyes or his little griffon squeals, but he wasn’t crying. Which…was strange. He hadn’t eaten for most of the day; shouldn’t babies scream when they were starved?

Yet Mahviiral seemed just mildly perturbed, like he was being inconvenienced by hunger and was just ignoring it to do something more fun…like screeching like a griffon hatchling.

“He has lungs,” Feli chuckled. “And why are his ears quivering so much? Is he cold?” She touched his cheek gently. “No he’s quite warm…”

Isen shrugged. “Nolahra thinks he must be hearing whatever it is Voidborns hear.” What that was, was the thing up to debate. And the one person who could explain it was currently rotting in prison…or being dissected. He shuddered thinking of it. Given how the residents of Banal’rasan were quick to kill any other Voidborn, and were all but demanding the Queen execute her Voidborn grandson, he could imagine just what might be happening to a captured one.

Not that he was feeling sympathy, or anything like that. Though…probably a little if he was honest—which he was not. Perhaps he felt a bit of…kinship with the demon. Not the demon part, but from all the tales of Nolahra, Sulendys was relatively normal for most of his life. A good boy with a bit too much brains, according to her. He took care of his mother who had to hide from the world with him.

So what was his end game? Why have a child with **Adahla** for Void’s sake? She was as cold and detached in bed as she was in conversation. He could say that for certain.

“ _Ma vhenin_? Something on your mind?” Feli asked when he started to stare out the window in silence. “Or are you scheming more?”

He smirked and gave her a wink. “I’m always scheming, you know that.”

“Something tells me you aren’t planning for a happy prank like usual though.”

“Oh? How do you know?”

She smiled, crinkling the scars at the corners of her eyes. “You look too serious for that.”

Isen laughed. “It is a very serious prank, I’ll have you know.”

Felivetanin opened her mouth to call his bullshit, but stopped, looking behind him. An old, withered hand draped over his shoulder not a moment later. His entire body stiffened. “Now, I do hope this serious prank is not why I’ve come all this way, little rose.” Rosha’s creaky voice held all the gravity of a death sentence.

He shook his head, then paused. “Well, I mean I suppose I could be pranking my family right now…but nothing serious.” He shot a glare at Feli when she laughed at his stumbling.

Rosha stepped around to his side. Her long blue robes flowing like water over the floor with practiced ease. She smiled gently at him, her green eyes almost getting lost. Her neatly pinned hair held no color of her youth, just as her body no longer clung to the visage of immortality.

“Need I remind you, the last prank you said was not serious, ended up with your younger brothers needing stitches?” She gently reminded him with a smile that was both affectionate and pointed at the same time.

Thankfully, Mahviiral let out a squall, saving Isen from tripping over his tongue. He instead motioned towards the now squirming bundle in Feli’s arms. “Meet the prank,” he said joyfully and not suspiciously…definitely not suspiciously.

Rosha raised an eyebrow at him before heading towards the babe. “A babe? You’re tricking your family with a babe?” She sounded like she couldn’t understand anything, but wasn’t going to try and have him explain it. Feli handed the old doctor the now fussy Mahviiral. Little squeals and squeaks came out of him like he wasn’t completely calm moments ago.

“Yes, and—”

Rosha gasped, cutting him off. She stood still, just locked in a staring contest with Mahviiral. Of course, he had to open his eyes…Isen sighed internally. First the Priest and now Rosha. The child already loved creating chaos…

“He’s—”

“Voidborn, yes, let’s get all the panic out of our systems now, shall we?” Isen chuckled though he did not feel any mirth from the situation. “He’s, first and foremost, a baby who needs you to check up on him.”

Rosha flicked her gaze to him. A keen mind hid behind dulling eyes, one that was quickly working through all scenarios possible. She gave him ‘The Look’: one of suspicion and disapproval that, had Isen’s mother still lived, she would’ve had on a lot he imagined. “So the Assassins decided to keep the bastard child after all?”

Isen nodded once.

“And why did you bring him here? I imagine they employ a physician.”

“Not a very good one,” Isen grumbled. “I mostly wanted to discuss something with you. If you don’t wish to examine him, then—” he reached for the fussy baby, only to have his hands literally smacked away.

Rosha gave him a deadly stare as she went to one of the cushions near the window. Feli laughed at him rubbing his stinging hands. Well then. “I do not like surprises, little rose; and while I cannot fathom why you seem to care for him, if I am told he is my patient, he is my patient, even if I wasn’t forewarned.”

Isen made a face behind her back but smoothed it into a pout when she looked over her shoulder at him. “ _Ir abelas, Hahren_ , I did not think you would come if I said ‘hey I’ve a Voidborn I need you to look at’.”

Rosha snorted but returned to laying Mahviiral on a cushion and undoing his tangle of blankets. “Fussy little thing, isn’t he?” She paused as she got him down to his nappie. “How old is he?”

“He just had his stars read, so a few months old. Why?”

Rosha looked over at him in concern. “Well, he’s skinny.” She waited for them to join her near the window. True enough, while most babies would be plump and round, Mahviiral was small and not skeletal but you could see he was heading that way.

“That would be what I was going to ask you. It seems the Lavellans do no employ a wet nurse, and the Princess is…herself and hasn’t been feeding him much.” Isen explained. “I was hoping Feli might be able to…why are you staring at me strangely?”

Rosha furrowed her brow, like something didn’t add up. “How often has she been feeding him?” She idly began to examine the babe more closely.

“Couldn’t tell you. I just know he has a tendency to cry until he falls asleep and she is nowhere to be found; he wakes up and the cycle repeats.” Isen waited for her to say something, but she just kept staring down at Mahviiral. “Is something wrong, _Hahren_?”

She blinked. “I know you haven’t been around a newborn before, but they eat quite often, little rose.” She motioned to Mahviiral. “If she lets him cry until he falls asleep, he shouldn’t be living right now.”

Isen frowned. “Cheery thought.”

She shook her head, as though trying to dispel the heaviness of that statement. “At the very least, he should be far skinnier than he is.”

Feli looked down at the babe that seemed to be listening to their conversation again. He still hiccupped and whimpered, but he seemed to be getting tired. “Then why isn’t he?” She took his little hand in hers.

Rosha rolled her lips together in thought. “I’ve seen similar cases…” She paused, probably for dramatic effect as she was want to do. “In nearly all of them, they ended up being a _nas’falon_.”

Isen’s eyebrows rose. Well, this child gets stranger and stranger…

*****

A few days and one ‘stern lecture—more like a shouting match—later, they all gathered in Ras’an’s throne room. A dreary and dreadful place, Isen thought.

It was in the very center of the old giant tree, suspended above the lake of water lying in its trunk. The floor glittered with spells, dancing like the water below. A hundred towering windows let the sunlight enter, or they would’ve if the vines and ivies hadn’t completely covered them from the outside.

The twisted and thorny wood of the tree formed support beams and tangled together in the center of the high ceiling where they hung down as a chandelier. Shadows and magic wove between the branches to create the dark crystalline walls.

Directly below the cascading magic motes of the only source of light, sat the throne: a remanent of the Scourge’s reign. Darkness itself twisted into a menacing seat. Tendrils climbed up the stairs like roots, branching up into the seat itself. It curved and spiraled around itself like the trees do. Four large shadowy wings sprouted from the back, dark mist falling from them.

An intimidating site, sure, but the darkness of the room and the coldness of crystals seemed to say this room was a prison. The madness of the Scourge seemed to seep into the very fabric of this place. Or perhaps it was merely the lack of sunlight that made the plain-dwelling prince feel claustrophobic in such a large space.

Why were they there? Isen hadn’t a clue. He had already gotten told off for ‘stealing’ Mahviiral away for a mere three hours and involving another physician for the boy. Apparently, the lack of feeding was explained as ‘training’. Which was utter hart shit. He was a baby, not a weapon. But Lavellans apparently started training for torture at birth.

Still, Isen argued that as Mahviiral wasn’t Adahla’s official heir as she did not give her family name to him, Isen was well within his rights to seek a wet nurse. The contract stated as much. Among other things, but he was going to keep those up his sleeves for now.

So Felivetanin had gotten to join him for his next stint in Ras’an. Which was, at least, an improvement to the dreary atmosphere. She stood next to him on the last step up to the throne where the Matron Queen sat. On the step directly below her seat stood Adahla.

Both dressed in their black court garments with glittering crystals in their white hair. So it was an official deal, though he and Feli were not told to wear court attire when their presences—and Mahviiral—were demanded this morning.

Mahviiral had improved from before. He no longer cried endlessly like a hatchling. It was more of a whimpering whenever something distressed him. He mostly just did the soul-gazing stare of infinity, little ears twitching constantly. Much like he was doing now at Adahla, though she ignored the stare.

The ring of a gong sounded from outside the room. The large crystal doors groaned as they opened. Clanking of chains and the ring of armor smacking the magic flooring was all that could be heard. Isen’s eyes widened at the sight.

Held between two Royal Guards in full regalia, a very peculiar person was lead into the chamber. His eyes glowed in the dimness of the room like green fires. The short black hair seemed to absorb all light, only giving the slightest blue highlights to suggest it was hair and not shadows. His skin was perhaps a few shades darker gold than Mahviiral, with glittering tattoos crafting a magical filigree over it.

The two guards stopped at the petitioner’s pedestal a ways away from the first step to the throne. They all but shoved him to his knees. Isen winced at the hard crack of bone against floor. Now that who he assumed to be Nolahra’s son was closer, he could see the gauntness of his cheeks, the blood on the rags he wore, and the black covering half of one eye.

He had a muzzle over his mouth, chains wrapping around his entire torso from a large collar. Runes glowed white over the metalwork, giving off a strange aura…almost like it was destroying all magic that dared to come close to him.

But his eyes never left Adahla, a burning defiance in them that remind Isen of his blood father on the gallows. A look of someone who would not admit guilt, nor bow to anyone even if it meant them keeping their life. A look of someone daring all the stars to try and stop them.

His guards bowed to the Matron Queen. “The Sun King has granted your request to see the…prisoner, Your Majesty,” one spoke, though the full faceplate prevented them from knowing which one.

Isen glanced up at Adahla. What was she wanting out of this? There was little reason to bring her accused here. Even less to bring Isen and Feli here to witness it. So what was her game?

“We appreciate the courtesy bestowed upon us,” Sylasha mumbled back, sounding less enthused than normal. Her orange eyes glared down at the prisoner. “Remove his muzzle. We’ve a question for the demon.” She nodded towards him.

The guards secured the chains in their hands to the floor. One wove a spell into the air near the back of his head while the other unwound the chains as the spell released them. The muzzle fell away, revealing a bemused smirk. Some blood trailed from the corner of his mouth.

Adahla snapped her fingers, calling a servant forward. She nodded down to Mahviiral in Feli’s arms. The skittish child hesitantly walked towards her, like she was afraid of being struck. Feli glanced at Isen with a cocked eyebrow. He could only shrug. He didn’t know what this was about anymore than she did.

She gave a harsh glare to the servant as she held out the white haired babe. At least Mahviiral seemed to be more fascinated with the chandelier at the moment. He normally wouldn’t allow servants to pick him up. He’d pucker his face and screech. One time he managed to scratch a particularly nervous boy when he tried to take him.

The servant girl’s hands shook as she took Mahviiral into her arms. Almost instantly, Mahviiral’s piercing eyes snapped to her face. The girl froze under what Isen had taken to calling the Gaze of the Void. A fitting name really.

Her whole body shook. And…yep Mahviiral wrinkled his nose before letting out a squall. That got Sulendys to look over at them. His eyes narrowed at the servant. “You’re going to drop him,” he growled. His shoulder cracked as a scabbard slammed against it.

“Speak when spoken to,” a guard snapped.

Adahla snapped once more. Her eyes unsettled the girl even more as she jerked her chin towards the prisoner. The girl scurried, holding Mahviiral as far away from her as she could without letting go of his head, down to the pedestal. She placed him on the ground in front before all but running back to the shadows of the walls.

“Explain.” Adahla stated simply.

Sulendys glanced up at her before casting his gaze at Mahviiral. He looked contemplative as he stared down at the babe. “He’s a babe.” He gave a cheeky smirk at his lack of an answer.

A sword swung out of its scabbard and pressed into his shoulder, drawing blood. He looked at with disdain almost like a cat would a mouse. “Master Diarth may put up with your mouth, but we will not.”

He snorted like he highly doubted that. From how relaxed he was in all those chains, Isen also doubted them being able to do much to stop his cheek. “Well, perhaps, if I were given a specific question by the little queen, I would be able to better answer.” His words were polite, but his tone said he’d rather have his arm chopped off.

“We are told he is far different than the normal Voidborn,” Sylasha spoke, leaning against her hand as though completely done with this whole affair. “Is he even Voidborn at all?”

The prisoner looked over the babe once more. “He has the Mark, so yes.” He shrugged, digging the sword deeper into his body.

“Then explain the rest of him.”

He smirked, as though he decided something. “Perhaps the Stars have a sense of humor, Your Majesty.” He looked directly at Adahla as he said that. The pointed tone and malicious glint in his eyes told Isen he was hinting at something only Adahla would know. Interesting.

Sylasha narrowed her eyes. “Speak plainly, demon, lest I repeat history.”

He tsked his tongue. “I was. You cannot control the fates the Stars write for us in the skies, why should I be able to?” He smiled serenely. “Curious as to why you are concerned he isn’t like a Voidborn, though.”

She waved her hand. “If you will not be helpful, then I will not waste anymore time with a demonspawn.”

Isen put a finger to his lips in thought. Why were they concerned if Mahviiral was a Voidborn or not? Shouldn’t his difference be treated as something to celebrate? Yet he sensed this…meeting was to try to get answers as to why he was **not** a Voidborn. And what did he mean by ‘the Stars have a sense of humor’?

“And here I thought I was helping…” he chuckled darkly. The air shifted. “Oh well, at the very least, Your Majesty, I thank you for this opportunity to see my predecessor’s lovely throne.” He rose his chin with a wicked smile. Fangs glinted dangerously. “The Scourge carved such a large scar here, that it’s…well it’s almost as though I can still feel his presence.”

Sylasha began to rise from her throne. The air became charged, like a storm was building. The black that invaded part of his left eye overcame both of them. The shifting tattoos darkened until they too were black as the Void. “Guards, restrain him. Now.” She shouted.

The guards removed the sword from his shoulder, but otherwise did not make to restrain him. “Unfortunately for these two, they’ve been around me a bit too long.” The prisoner chuckled again. “Guards get a bit…handsy during their weekly stint in the dank prison, you see. They might think the chains prevent me from using magic, but…” He looked at one of them with a serene smile.

He cleared his throat and that snapped the guards into action. At first, they seemed to be rebinding him. But Isen quickly noted the spell was one of undoing. Before any of them could conjure a spell to knock them away, the chains unraveled with loud clinks and clanks. He stood up from his place.

“They only prevent my magic from going outside my body.” He winked at one of the guards. He gave a languid stretch, wincing slightly as he moved his bleeding shoulder. Lightning skittered up his arm to the wound. It formed stitches, pulling the skin tightly together.

“You little—” Adahla growled, but was stopped as he gave a languid bow.

“I do thank you for bringing me here, little queen.” He looked up at her with a malicious smile. “I wonder how you will explain this to that pompous pretty boy in Arlathan.”

“Guards!” Sylasha shouted. Little puffs of darkness began to materialize into the famed Lavellan assassins. But the prisoner looked relaxed if not slightly amused.

“Come now, you sit upon a throne that should be mine, and think your little assassins can do anything?” He laughed. His markings flared once. The Royal Guards drew their swords at the assassins. Light shone around them, breaking away the darkness spells they used to shift around quickly. He held out a hand.

Shadows detached themselves from the throne and slithered to his outstretched hand. They dissolved into his markings. He glanced down at Mahviiral, who gave a childish giggle. A small smile graced his features before it turned back to wicked glee. “I do hope you learn your lesson, little queen; the Stars themselves seem to be against you.”

He snapped. Shadows sprung from him, wrapping and coiling themselves into a storm. Black lightning shot through the clouds. And in a clap of thunder that singed the floor, it all stopped.

The Royal Guards fell as though they fainted. The assassins crept to the pedestal, looking at all the shadows warily. No one moved; no one breathed. They looked around the scorched pedestal, but could not find a single trace of where he went.

Mahviiral’s giggle was the only thing to break the silence, and even then it held an ominous edge to it. Like he knew something they all didn’t.

*****

Isen wandered down the glowing hallway aimlessly. His mind spun with thoughts and ideas, theories and conspiracies alike. It was one of his only flaws, really. When he felt something was amiss, he would not sleep until he figured it out.

So rather than get in his few hours of meditation or physically sleep like Feli liked to do, he meandered down the hallway. When he first arrived, he marveled at how Ras’an lit up at night. The crystalline walls shone with moonlight; the water danced with colors every step he took. There was no need for globes of light even on the levels below the canopy. You just walked through an ethereal passage like a wraith.

He could see why books always said Ras’an could rival Athdhea’an (place of dawn), or called why, once upon a time, it was called Athlean’an (place of twilight). Truly, Arlathan’s palace and Anbanal’s were perfect mirrors of each other. One bright and golden with open air walkways and trees and crystals weaving throughout like gold veins. The other shrouded in shadow and ghostly light, tight corridors of solid crystal that shift and rearrange along the branches.

Interesting how the cycle of night and day showed up time and time again. Or perhaps it was mere symbolism that historians and poets alike prefer to use to justify it all? To say how it was ordained by fate, that it was meant to be and all those platitudes people like to give in face of a tragedy.

Isen shook his head at his thought. He knew better than most that sometimes bad things just happen and thinking there was some reason behind it just makes it hurt more. It meant people have no agency in their lives, that everything they do gets added together and that they should understand why something bad happened.

But that’s the thing. Just because you stole some bread to eat, your mother then gets murdered in an alleyway? How does one thing lead to another? Were the Stars keeping track of all people’s misdeeds? If so, then how the hell was Adahla still in existence? Or Sylasha? It made no sense to go through life thinking every bad thing had a reason behind it. ‘There was no fate beyond the one we make for ourselves,’ as his father always said.

He sighed. He glanced around, finding himself in the unused hallway leading to the nursery. Funny how he was brought here. Though Mahviiral usually starts fussing around this time, so perhaps it was serendipity.

He walked to the aged door. The tangled roots retreated as his aura brushed against them. The door creaked open just as he reached it. Moonlight poured in through the window, the (new) curtains blew gently in the breeze.

Isen froze. Who left the window open? How did it get open anyway? When he ordered the room cleaned and aired out, the servants could barely get it opened a crack. Yet both panels were wide open, letting in that ‘lovely’ swamp air.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” someone hissed almost to themselves. Isen’s attention snapped to the right. The changing table and the rocking chair sat in that corner…as did a pair of very bright green eyes. They glowed ominously from the chair, giving off physical light rather than reflecting it. Glittering tattoos danced with dull reds and flickers of orange like an echo of a fire ran through them.

For a moment, they just stared at each other: Isen out of shock mostly, and the other probably out of annoyance judging from his tone. Then Mahviiral cooed, snapping both their eyes down to him cradled in the man’s arms.

“What are you doing?” Isen asked when his mouth unthawed enough. He probably should’ve called for the guards? He should call for the guards. Yet, he didn’t feel threatened. The air wasn’t heavy with Void like it was in the throne room.

Sulendys rolled his eyes, giving an exasperated look. “I’m stealing him away, obviously.” The amount of disdain and sarcasm in his voice, Isen noted, gave mixed signals on the truth of that statement. “Isn’t that what all the monsters do in those tired old children stories?”

Ah, so a joke. Isen stepped further into the room, never taking his eyes off Sulendys. The door creaked shut like it was trying to dissuade Isen from staying in there. “Depends on the monster, if I recall.”

“Well, either way, congratulations! You’re the hero!” Sulendys gave a very fake smile to go along with the very fake enthusiasm. He quickly returned to glaring at Isen. “Hurry up and call the guards already.”

Isen looked back at the door. That was certainly the smart thing to do. Before him was an escaped prisoner of the Sun King no less. Yet his thoughts trailed back to earlier in the day. “Would that make you feel better?” Isen smirked, as he stalled to try to make up his mind. Did he do the rational thing or did he chase another wild and crazy thought Feli would strangle him for if she found out? “I could give you a head start if you wanted.”

Sulendys snorted as he stood up. He sauntered to the crib, giving Isen a side glare as he went, choosing to have the window at his back rather than him. Isen had to look up to meet his eyes, he barely reaching the man’s nose.

“Please,” Sulendys growled, “you and I both know, you’d have me tracked within ten minutes, Spy.”

“I don’t know about that. I could not sense you after you left in such a spectacular fashion before.”

“That was, unfortunately, a one time thing.” Well that was vague, Isen noted. Then he really looked at him, as much that he could see of him silhouetted against the moon like he was. He was perhaps too gaunt, golden skin a bit grey underneath. The wound upon his shoulder was still open, a few of the lightning stitches having broke. It didn’t bleed, a strange film shimmered over it. His eyes were much clearer though, not a trace of black in either eye.

So…perhaps he was weakened? Was that why he couldn’t hide his presence from Isen’s tracking abilities like before? Before the sudden flare of magic messed with them, the whole thing just obnoxious enough to scramble his senses. Now, Isen had already detected his aura…

It was quiet, unlike everyone else’s. A bit weak, much closer to his body than someone his age would normally have, which was probably why Isen didn’t sense him before opening the door. At the moment, it felt like a light rainstorm with a few cracks of lightning. Nothing violent or ominous or chaotic as his outburst had been.

Isen watched as he lowered Mahviiral back into his crib. He seemed very gentle in his motions despite the long black claws he sported. He whispered something, Mahviiral giving another coo of delight, kicking at the blanket over him.

“He usually gets fussy around this time,” Isen noted quietly.

Sulendys snorted. “He doesn’t like the servants. They are scared and loud about it.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Loud? They hardly say a word around **me** let alone him.”

“Not in physically loud. Emotionally. Spiritually, whatever it is.” Sulendys shook his head with a huff. “It’s annoying to me. He doesn’t understand it or separate it from himself, so he mirrors it.”

“You know that makes even less sense, yes?”

“Fuck off.”

“You are so charming,” Isen chuckled earning a sneer.

Sulendys groaned under his breath, crossing his arms as he straightened. “Are you calling the damnable guards or not?”

Isen cocked his head to side. “Why?”

“So I know if I need to jump out the fucking window after I snap your pretty jaw off.” They narrowed their eyes at each other for a few heartbeats. Isen couldn’t sense a threat, an intention of harm inside the storm, but then again…His aura felt much…much-er?

While he could understand what he was sensing, it also felt like it was constantly shifting like movement in the corner of his eye. Shadows moving about in darkness despite everything being still was the best description he could think of. It made for a harder read as the moment he tried to shine light on that shifting darkness, the light chased it away.

“And here I thought we were getting along so well…” Isen commented drily. “Unless you mean Mahviiral harm, I don’t see a reason to sound the alarm.” Feli was going to kill him if she found out…But he couldn’t pass this up. He had to know. Sulendys rose an eyebrow at the name. He glanced down at Mahviiral. Ah. “His star-name is Mahviiral,” Isen clarified.

“Pretty,” he mumbled with no venom behind it. The shadows over his face might have distorted Isen’s view, but he could’ve sworn he saw a faint smile form.

“Quite.” They stayed quiet for a few minutes, just letting the breeze rustle in the curtains. “You never did answer my question.”

Sulendys glanced over at him. He glared harder, but did not speak.

“Why are you here?” Isen tried again. “You have to know this is the least safe spot this half of the Elvhenan.”

“I could only get so far with that spell,” he shrugged, dancing around the question entirely. His eyes flickered over Isen’s form. His markings flared pale green, then a soft pink. “Ask the question already rather than try to make small talk, Spy. I care little for your dance.”

Isen blinked. “Which question is that?”

His eyes narrowed even more. The pupils turned to slits for a moment before righting themselves. “How would I know that? I don’t know telepathy and you wouldn’t like how I could find out.”

Ominous threat that Isen was nonetheless very curious about, but he would save that for another day…assuming he survived. He opened his mouth, but stopped when he noticed Sulendys’s ears twitch slightly. They weren’t as animated as Mahviiral’s, but it was a slight flick forward.

“Something about the little witch—I mean queen.” He didn’t sound very apologetic about the slip. Fair though.

“It seemed as though you knew what she planned, is all.” Isen didn’t think he wanted to tip his hand just yet. See if he could lead him into giving the answers without Isen having to admit he knew nothing…

“You mean she hasn’t shared that plan with you?” Sulendys cut right through the smoke and mirrors. He smirked like he knew he was ruining things.

Well damn. There goes that plan. “I figured she has some sort of scheme.”

“But you don’t know what.” Sulendys chuckled darkly. “Ever heard of ignorance is bliss, Spy?”

“No,” Isen smiled serenely, “Where I’m from the saying was: ignorance usually ends with someone dead.”

“Quite sure the same could be said of curiosity, no?”

“True, but I’d rather have all the information I can than be blindsided.” He shrugged. “I may end up dead either way, but this way I can at least plan for it.”

He got another snort (was that how he laughed? Or was it a form of agreement?) in response. Sulendys lowered his gaze to the little wooden griffon charms they had hung over Mahviiral’s crib. He idly pulled the veil back over the cradle, rubbing the old lace between his fingers.

“I know of her scheme because I put it inside her head,” he finally gave. He sighed. He reached up to rub at his neck, but stopped with he pulled on his injured shoulder. Isen thought about offering to heal it, but figured he’d be shot down if not immediately punched.

“Oh? So I get to blame you then?”

“She’s the one that decided to change the game I set out for her.”

Isen hummed thoughtfully. “And how did she change it exactly?”

Sulendys looked up at him for a long moment. Isen suddenly felt like he was staring into the eyes of a dragon that was very displeased with him being in its lair. He cocked his head to the side, eyes growing distant for a second. “Seems our time together is destined to be cut short,” he said with probably genuine happiness, “so I must bid you good night, Spy.”

He stepped back to the window before turning and hopping onto the seal. “Should I expect to find you breaking and entering often?” Isen crossed imaginary fingers. He was going to pull those damn answers out of him like rotten teeth if he had to. Why?

He looked at Mahviiral’s crib. Isen didn’t believe in fate or destiny, he barely could believe the Stars watched over them. Bad things happen with no reason, but…Adahla’s cruelty had purpose behind it, he felt that the moment she announced she was pregnant.

He was going to be damned if he didn’t figure that purpose out and stop it. He refused to let another child be used for nefarious schemes cooked up by shitty parents wanting a bigger seat at the table. He was given a second chance not many of his circumstances could even dream of, and was going to use it.

Maybe it was fate that he lived the life he did, had the ability he did, so that he could be there in that moment staring at a man most would deem a wicked monster without a second thought. Or maybe it was just pure luck.

Sulendys glanced over his shoulder, as though reading his intentions. Whatever he found made him heave a hefty sigh in resignation. “At least bring me good fucking wine next time you want to annoy me with stupid questions.”

And with, he leapt out the window into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a redemption from being an abusive father? No it's an alternate timeline where he doesn't go insane. Why? Because I was doing practice writing exercises with him and he's...a fun character? When he's not trying to destroy the world at least. And if it wasn't for ONE thing happening, he wouldn't have gone off the deep end and ended up as the abusive bag of dicks of canon Nothing. Granted he is still Chaotic Neutral at the best of times, so expect a lacking moral compass similar to that of beginning Banal. Just with more humor.
> 
> We'll get to Elgar'nan soon, promise. He just has a very nice childhood that wouldn't make for an interesting story, so...
> 
> Also we'll need a new nickname for Mahviiral! No more ma da'banal (finally). Debating between 'little star' (da'u'vun), 'little light' (da'lean), or 'little dragon' (da'isenatha).
> 
> P.S. if you want to know what Sulendys looks like...I finally finished! Tis my icon which I am very proud of. (^u^) or [the full sized version](https://www.deviantart.com/aeantizlkamenwati/art/Servant-of-Luck-863865497)


	5. Little Gift (Mahviiral)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never bet against a Voidborn.
> 
> Minor canon divergence and spoiler. See beginning notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A spoiler for chapter 39, but I'm not going to tell you where or what. So technically as the chapter won't exist until later this year (hopefully) it's not really a spoiler as you won't know what it is. Plus it's not a big spoiler, just some lore things that will only be briefly discussed in Nothing. Won't ruin the story for you. This is sort of the start of the "lore I have but will never be included into the main story". 
> 
> Minor canon divergence: Name change ;)
> 
> Also full version of the poem has been added to the Guide, chapter 7, if you'd like to check it out. I rather like it as it a) isn't really a poem and b) is kinda ominous if you think about it too long. :D

_In Chaos, Order is Found._

_In Order, Chaos is Lost._

_I Guide the Wheel._

“Oh, fuck me,” came from the far right corner as soon as Isen opened the door. He gave an internal cheer. He was fairly certain after the first three nights of waiting in the room that Sulendys was avoiding him. So in response to the snub, Isen instead came by at a random time and what would you know? He struck…Voidborn? Sure, yes, that was a saying that existed.

“Not with a baby in the room,” Isen countered. His lips pulled into a cocky smirk. Sulendys made a growl noise as he glared over his shoulder. A quick flash of red and gold shimmered through the markings around his eyes. Mahviiral cooed happily, though he was obscured behind a very testy Voidborn.

“Why? It’s not like he could understand what was going on.”

“It’s the principle of the matter.” Isen flowed into the room. The door clicked quietly behind him, sealing them in together. Though, Sulendys could just jump out the window like he was eyeing. Isen held out a bottle of wine and two glasses when the glare returned to him. “I did bring you wine as you requested.”

Sulendys snorted and turned back to what he was doing. Changing Mahviiral by the looks (and smell) of it. “I didn’t request you.”

Isen smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No, but you said to bring wine the next time I wanted to ask stupid questions.” His grin grew. “Hard to ask questions if I’m not present, no?”

“You could leave a letter.”

“You’d burn it.”

Sulendys glanced over his shoulder, tossing the soiled cloth onto the little teleportation rune on the floor. It and its smell evaporated into light particles, going to…the wash? A burn pit? The Void? Who really knew?

“And in person, I’ll burn you,” Sulendys grumbled.

Isen felt a little prickle on the back of his neck. His magic bristled at the threat—or perhaps the reminder—even if he got no sense of malicious intent…yet. His ability allowed him to sense individuals’ unique auras, track them from traces in the air, and occasionally even mimic them flawlessly.

He had found auras often shifted certain ways to reveal emotions or intentions. A tumultuous aura might suggest a mental struggle, or instability while an slimy one might mean deception.

Sulendys’s aura was hard to pin down. Fairly easy to sense when he was in the same room, but outside the room, he was nonexistent. It felt older than his body, deeper than anything Isen could sense like an unending sky behind a persistent storm. Like shadows, it hid the darkest parts from Isen’s light, darting away at the corner of his eyes, threatening to overtake him if he stared too long.

So Isen couldn’t be completely sure Sulendys didn’t mean his threat. The tell tale signs of danger weren’t in his aura at the very least. And Isen was an eternal optimist. “Do you threaten everyone or just your friends?” Isen countered. He doubted Sulendys had any friends—prison tended to destroy one’s social life.

He snorted in answer. “Only people who talk to me.” He shrugged. “If you scream and cry about it, well then you stop talking don’t you?”

“Ah, so it’s a…quaint personality trait.” Lovely. Isen may prefer other forms of humor more, but dark humor was still humor. And “the difference between a man and a demon is a sense of humor” as his father liked to say.

Sulendys blinked and then…barked a laugh. Mahviiral gave a happy squeal at the strange noise. Even Isen looked baffled. “Sure let’s call it that rather than what my mother calls it.” He chuckled before turning back to his task.

“Nolahra?” Isen quirked an eyebrow. “What does she call it?”

“My demon showing.” He threw a fanged smirk over his shoulder. A pale salmon color glittered through his markings. His tone was flat, but amused. Nolahra had no qualms of reminding her son about his unique…heritage. Though it seemed to be an inside joke, rather than a jab.

“Seems like semantics to me,” Isen shrugged. He held up the glasses again. “Would you like a glass before or after answering stupid questions.”

“I did not agree to answer, Petals.”

‘Oh how quaint, he’s given me a nickname,’ Isen thought, not amused in the slightest. Couldn’t he continue with ‘Spy’? It was at least a descriptive title, told you everything you needed to know about him. Petals…that was something you named a griffon or hart.

“But you—”

“—Did not say I would answer anything, just that I required wine to tolerate you.” Sulendys turned halfway towards him just to smirk. Isen glared.

“You are insufferable,” he sighed. It really was like speaking to a demon—you had to choose your words carefully lest you get nowhere or worse.

“You’re annoying,” Sulendys countered. He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Though…answers for answers, that seems like a fair game, does it not?”

Isen narrowed his eyes. Now that sounded like a bad idea. Give answers for answers, a fair trade done in most circles, yet this offer felt…loaded. Like most deals with demons, he could feel an unintended side-effect looming in the not too distant future. Unlike most demons, however, Isen could not figure out what those side-effects could be.

“I suppose it would depend on the questions,” he gave carefully.

A flash of orange lit up the markings for a fraction of a second, there and gone again like a candle in a storm. “That goes both ways.” Sulendys turned back to Mahviiral. “I am not going to tell you how to kill me or anything of that nature.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Isen clarified under his breath. He watched as Mahviiral grabbed a handful of black hair. He seemed quite content to be held by his blood father. Yet he screamed or cried when a servant held him too long. Interesting.

Isen placed the bottle of wine and glasses down on the nightstand by the rocking chair. He ran his thumb over the rune on top of the cork. It lit up. The tangle of roots slowly shrank back from inside the bottle until it popped open. He removed the remaining disc and poured the wine. The pale blue fluid almost glowed in the moonlight. Strong notes of elderberry and a hint of honey came from the glasses.

“So what’s your poison?” Isen asked the silence as he poured.

“Felandris on most days; sometimes I’ll mix it with some phoenix lotus seeds to give them one last good time, you know?” Sulendys smiled, malice in his bright eyes.

Isen took a deep breath. “You are a pain in the ass, you know.”

Sulendys cocked an eyebrow. “I can be a different kind of pain in the ass, if you prefer.”

“Must you make everything sexual?”

“It’s not my fault you find me attractive and have a dirty mind.” He winked, in a not at all (but very much so) attractive manner. Isen kept a straight face. He refused to even contemplate the meaning of those words.

He blew a breath out his nose, glaring at the amused smirk. Sulendys was very aware of his own good looks and clever tongue, not unlike a desire demon, Isen noted. So he would just have to pick very specific questions and phrases. And ignore any and all things that could be perceived as a flirt.

“Was there a specific question you wished to ask first or shall I start our little trade?” Isen kept his voice placid, calm, even as his mind whirled around and around to every little things he needed to do.

Sulendys, rather than answer, balanced Mahviiral against his chest and turned. He lost his smirk. Isen’s eyebrows shot up. “Care to explain this?” Mahviiral’s pale little back had a large black bruise blooming across it.

Isen put down the bottle, frowning. Taking the three steps forward, he gently touched the mark. Mahviiral didn’t cry or flinch, just kept his little squeaks, pulling at Sulendys’s ears now. This close to the Voidborn, the air was…charged. Heavy. A storm brewed just below the surface, sending every nerve on edge.

Isen glanced up at the displeased scowl, finding that even the red around his pupil glowed…and up close the glare was quite threatening. A madness hid behind the eyes of a dragon with the façade of peace. But it seemed like he was tolerating his presence for the moment.

He focused back on the little pinpricks of magic against his fingertips. A jittery aura, almost like a thousand ants swarming around a crumb, clung to the skin. He couldn’t read much more than that. Unfortunately, slaves—or servants as they were called here in the Banal’rasan—were trained to be as nondescript as possible. Their auras all tended to blend into one collective hive aura with little to no distinction between individuals.

His magic spread through the bruise. Babies’ magic were nonexistent, usually, making it easy to manipulate or heal them. Mahviiral…was not a normal baby by any stretch of the imagination. He not only had magic, but it clung close to his skin like a protective shell of ice.

So Isen had to overwhelm that shell (which took very little magic to do as he was still a baby) in order to heal the injury. He pulled more blood to the surface, making it dissolve away. The bruise faded from black, to blue, red, and finally yellow before disappearing entirely. His magic coalesced around the injured muscles, giving them a boost in power to help the normal weakness healing magic caused.

He felt the cold magic latch on to his, pulling it tightly around itself, almost absorbing it completely. He cocked his head to the side. That wasn’t normal…But he figured it was “voidborn weirdness” and assuming he didn’t get disemboweled, he’d just ask about it later.

He took a step back. “There, good as new.” He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Sulendys frowned, red flooded his markings. “That’s it?” His voice took on a strange undertone, almost like an echo.

Isen tilted his head to the side. “I can gather it was a servant, but find no malicious intent. So most likely one of the more skittish ones startled, and dropped him from a relatively small height.” He shook his head. “The most I can do is speak to the head servant about it.” Adahla got the final say in everything, he implied.

The red darkened as Sulendys flexed his jaw. Mahviiral squealed as he noticed the bright ‘lights’. Immediately, he began trying to grab them. Isen chuckled; he did the same thing with magelights. Sulendys grumbled and growled, trying to get his cheeks far away from grabby baby hands and their needle-like claws.

“You are a grabby little monster, you know that?” He hissed jokingly as he grabbed the hand on his cheek. He let the little claws pierce his fingers as they wrapped around. “Already drawing blood.”

“Are those claws going to be permanent?” Isen asked suddenly.

“No.” Sulendys didn’t even look over at him. “His Void magic will learn to mimic Fade soon, and they’ll recede until it shows back up again.” He wiggled his own black claws holding Mahviiral against him. “Might become permanent, might not.”

Isen hummed as he turned back around. “He should be sleeping, you know.”

“And miss seeing me? Perish the thought.” He whispered something, that strange echo tone coming back. Almost immediately, Mahviiral’s head began to dip. A sleeping spell? Sulendys winked like he sensed the question on the tip of Isen’s tongue. He rocked side to side. The red faded until a pale lavender flowed through his markings. A gentle storm seemed to fill the room. “Still not going to call the guards?”

Isen held up a glass of wine. “Not before you’ve had at least a drink. Have to give them some advantage.”

Sulendys snorted. “As though your guards could even handle me when I’m drunk off my ass. Not even the Royal Guards could hold me back.”

“True, though I do wonder how you managed that if your magic was suppressed.” Isen took a sip of his wine. Sulendys watched him carefully, like a cat waiting for you to get close enough to pounce on.

“This place is my ancestral home, is it not?” He gave quietly. “It was built using the Scourge’s power; there are remnants of that power like the throne…” he paused, looking around. “Do you know why Adahla chose this room for his room?”

Isen shrugged. “I assume because it was disused, out of the way, generally horrible, and she’s a terrible person.” That at least got another snort/chuckle.

“In part probably.” Sulendys walked to the crib. He gently laid Mahviiral down. A spark of lightning wound around the mobile, spinning it with a gentle breeze. Little globes of light began to dance around it as he straightened. The baby was completely enraptured by the sparkles, cooing and giggling as he struggled to remain awake.

Sulendys turned to Isen, face devoid of all emotion. “This room was once a shrine built off the side of the Scourge’s private quarters. Supposedly, here is where he would cast his spells, commune with the spirit in his blood, and whatever nefarious horror stories you wish to think of.” He looked around again like he was seeing something invisible to anyone else. “The Veil between our world and the Void is quite thin here, regardless. My magic is more…malleable, shifts quicker.”

Isen cocked his head to the side. “Shifts quicker?” Some spells took longer to cast, but the word ‘shifts’ implied a different meaning.

“Void magic is heavy, thick, sluggish. Whereas Fade magic is one thing, Void is many. It is chaos and order, life and death, fire and ice, earth and air.” Sulendys shook his head. “To do one thing like set you on fire, I have to balance my own magic like a spinning top. If it leans a bit too much to one side, it all spirals out of control.”

Isen nodded along. He couldn’t truly understand the concept of having to control magic to that extent. Magic just was; it’d be like controlling your breathing every second of every day. “And the thinner Veil means your magic is less…heavy?”

“It messes up the balance; a single stray thought could send me into a rage, or madness, or whatever you wish.” Now that was an image. Magic was tied closely to the caster’s emotions, so he supposed Voidborns were no different…just a bit more unstable apparently. “A tiny inkling of Void can give me the ability to reverse time, or accelerate it or teleport without a trace.”

Isen held out the extra glass. So that was how he managed to disappear entirely. He probably pulled some power from the throne, and poof he was gone. But… “If this place has a thinner Veil, then why put Mahviiral here?” He asked slowly. Sulendys’s eyes narrowed as a sly grin pulled at his lips. “You’d think she’d be trying to lessen his chances of going insane after she went through all the trouble to have him.” He sipped from his glass, mind starting to spin. “Yet she seems more concerned he isn’t like a Voidborn.”

Sulendys stepped forward and grabbed his glass. A wicked glint shown in his eyes as he took another step. That heavy presence snapped Isen out of his thoughts. He blinked and took a step back.

And another.

And another, until his back hit the wall. Sulendys stalked forward until they were far closer than casual acquaintances should be. His aura was suffocating this close. That smirk absolutely infuriating.

Yet…

His body relaxed. A shiver ran down his back as he kept staring into the glowing eyes of madness. Pink began to dance around the markings. Isen had just enough presence of mind to feel magic wrapping around his consciousness.

Even as the world seemed to narrow into just the two of them in that space, he struggled to fight the electricity buzzing into his blood. The more he tried to fight, the less distance there seemed to be. He held his breath as Sulendys leaned close enough for their noses to touch.

“She’s afraid,” he whispered. Isen tried to fight against the tremble in his lips, but failed. He could do nothing but note the softer green flecks in his irises, how the yellow specks seemed to be the ones glowing, and just how fathomless the red made his eyes appear. “Afraid he doesn’t have this power, that he’s a regular Voidborn who’s soul will wither away within a year.”

Isen swallowed, trying to follow the words. He felt a ghost of a caress inside his mind, pulling him deeper. He shivered, mind wanting nothing more than a real touch, which was perhaps the most worrisome thought he could have.

He didn’t feel trapped, or coerced; there was nothing tying him to this…state? Geas? Trance? He could pull away, but damn if that wasn’t the hardest thing to do. “And…” he stopped to clear his throat. “Why would she worry about that?”

A chuckle so close to his ear, sent another shock of electricity through him. “Come now, Petals, I know you have a sharp mind. Why would you want a power like this?” The suffocating pressure eased slightly, letting Isen put a hand up and push him back.

His heart galloped in his chest, heat flooded his face. It was like being a teenager once more, stealing touches behind the stables. He swallowed, looking anywhere but at the knowing smirk.

As Isen took deep breaths to try to cool his blood, Sulendys calmly sipped from his wine. He wrinkled his nose. “Ah, fermented swamp water, lovely. I believe I said good wine.” The pressure inside Isen’s mind began to ease, leaving a tingle over his skin and mind. “You’re lucky you are at least more appealing.”

“Must you make everything sexual?” Isen growled once more. His cheeks remained blazing red, his voice a bit too breathless for him to claim he wasn’t affected. The grin grew.

“Just providing a demonstration; you seemed to be enjoying it,” Sulendys said calmly. His eyes dropped down a little, before looking off to the side in a (surprisingly) tactful manner. Which meant he was just being an ass probably.

“I would prefer if you ask first,” Isen snapped. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get any and all thoughts away from…that. “What was that even?” He took a big gulp of wine, finding his throat quite dry.

“The Scourge’s Legacy.”

Isen glared at the non-answer. Sulendys shrugged.

“Think of it like your aura reading ability. It’s just something my line is able to do.” He set down his empty glass. He lazily sat in the rocking chair, leaning his chin on his hand as he waited. For a moment, the hormonal part of Isen’s brain really wanted to sit on his lap. He quickly stopped that string of thoughts, shaking off the remaining electricity in his blood.

“Your line or Voidborns?” Isen filled his glass again. There was not enough alcohol in this bottle, he thought bitterly. Next time, he was stealing a bottle of blood brandy from his father’s reserves. He paused at the thought of next time. Great, he was already expecting things.

“My line. We are spirit-blooded, whereas regular Voidborns are…well genetic fuck-ups.” He shrugged in a very high and mighty way. “Their bodies and minds are not adapted for a Void soul, so It tears them to pieces.”

Isen took another swig. “And your line is the result of what? Careful breeding?” He doubted that given Nolahra’s story.

“I’m insulted you think my line that mundane.” Sulendys snatched the bottle from the table. “It’s more like a Void spirit possessed the Scourge, and never left. All of us down the line then have…a bit of the spirit still. Or at least, enough changes to our blood that allows us to be tied to the chaos that is the Void.” He shrugged once more as he took a drink.

“And you can use this…power to…” Isen struggled to put into words what had happened. “Put people into trances?” That wasn’t a very special power.

He got a dark chuckle. “Hardly.”

“Then what was it?”

He tapped his claws against the wooden armrests. He tilted his head to the side, his markings growing dim once more. “Animancy? Blood magic? Don’t really know myself.” He hummed to himself. “We feel and hear the emotions of every living thing; we know the balance of them all.” He looked towards Mahviiral’s crib. “And we know how to manipulate that balance.”

Isen grumbled, “That’s vague and unhelpful.” Was speaking in tongues and riddles a part of the power? Because he was very good at it.

“Every emotion you have is a weak spot for my magic to come in,” his eyes flickered back to Isen. The pressure returned, the lightning brushed Isen’s mental barriers. He felt them quiver and almost give in…they might have if Sulendys pressed harder, but he pulled away. “My magic can then…push and pull, twist and warp your heart, your soul until all I have to do is say jump, and you’ll do it.”

Isen shivered. “You put them into a geas?”

He shook his head. “If you change the heart, you change the mind. Unlike blood magic, that controls you physically, my magic controls the heart or soul if you will.” He gave a bitter snort. “It is very difficult to manage; I often do it subconsciously. Not enough to corrupt the person, but enough to make them give me food or jump in front of a fireball.”

So that entire village he made go crazy…that was all subconscious? Isen gave a dubious look. Somehow, he didn’t believe that…unless… “The longer you are around someone, the more power you can exert.”

Sulendys nodded. “A few nudges here, and few pushes there, next thing I know I’ve got an entire village under my control.” He looked at Mahviiral’s crib. “Now imagine what Adahla would want with that kind of power.”

Isen didn’t want to. He knew from his time at court that the Lavellans were…outsiders despite their status. They were useful as breeding stock, but most of the aristocracy still found them little better than slaves. And they had little choice but to agree as the swamp was not a kind environment; they needed trade to survive.

He could understand the resentment that would inevitably happen in such a power dynamic. Especially given how Adahla was raised and just was. But…there was a reason people feared the Scourge, and he assumed this power was why. In the wrong hands, it could create a rebellion, install a dictator, and no one could stop it.

“You said you were the one to give her the idea…” Isen pointed out, recalling their last conversation.

“I did.”

“Why the ever-loving fuck would you do that?” Isen kept his voice low to prevent Mahviiral from waking up, but it still sounded loud in the quiet night. Sulendys blinked at him.

“My, not so well mannered after all, are we?” He grinned. “Good to know.” A flicker of orange and red shimmered over the back of his hands as he took a long drink from the bottle. “And, I manipulated her to give me what I wanted. Is that so hard to believe?”

“And what was it that you wanted exactly?” Isen couldn’t see anything good coming out of either arrangement. “What were you planning to do?”

He shrugged. “Steal the baby, go live by the coast or something. Maybe even open a little herb shop.” He chuckled bitterly like he knew how naïve that sounded. “Sounds childish, I know, especially now, but well I never thought it was a good plan. Just a plan.”

“You just wanted a child?” Isen asked, completely baffled. “You do realize there are businesses specifically for that purpose, yes?”

Sulendys gestured to his eyes. “Those houses require tests and check your family lines. I can glamour well enough to be undetected physically, but I cannot hide my blood.” He shook his head. “No I needed someone desperate enough to sleep with a Voidborn and not run to the guards immediately. Someone who had something to gain.”

Like Adahla, Isen finished in his head. “But she still ran to the guards eventually. I suppose that’s what changed your game?”

Sulendys snorted. “Yes, but she unknowingly gave me an advantage. What she doesn’t realize is that she and I aren’t the only ones on the board, and she is sorely outmatched.” He shook his head.

Isen opened his mouth. What other players were there? Why? He could guess other people would love to have this sort of power on their side, but who would be willing to exploit a small child for it?

He paused, closing his mouth as white began to spread through Sulendys’s markings. He just sat there watching Mahviiral’s crib as the mobile still swirled in the moonlight. “The Stars have a sense of humor.”

“Why?” Isen asked quietly. He said that before.

Sulendys just shook his head. “You’ll figure it out, Petals.” He stood and started for the window. “That’s enough stupid questions for one night. You were at least slightly amusing.” He stepped up onto the seal before stopping. He looked over his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me his blood name.”

Isen blinked. Not a strange question, given he was Mahviiral’s blood father. Still, it was not a pleasant answer. “Banal’ras’iroth.”

A frown etched itself onto his face. His eyes brightened as red pulsed inside the filigree. He could probably guess why that name was chosen. “And family name?”

“None was given.”

“None?”

Isen shook his head. “I would have to petition my father to adopt Mahviiral, which I plan on, but that takes quite a bit of…tact.” And headaches and gifts and…everything really. “Adahla did not give him her name, either, so he is effectively without family.” Which made him basically a slave born into a Lower House.

Sulendys remained silent, that displeased scowl not leaving his face. Then like he came to some funny conclusion, a grin spread over his lips. Fangs lengthened as a bit of black began to invade his eyes. A malicious chuckle came from him as he turned around and vanished into the night.

If that wasn’t a bad omen, Isen didn’t know what was…

*****

Sulendys ducked behind a bookcase as yet another Integrity Spirit wandered by. He pulled the shadows around him, shielding his presence from the spectral guard. How many fucking guards did one damn Archive need?

He held his breath, listening to the wispy whoosh noise it made as it passed. He followed the orange glow with his eyes. It had no form, just a cloud of light. Having ran into a few of those clouds before, he knew they’d create a form if alerted and provoked.

So he stayed in his shadow bubble and looked about.

Ras’an had its own Archives in the palace, but a slave’s, or in this case Mahviiral’s, names wouldn’t be stored there until they were sent to the Grand Archives where every name ever was stored. Oh no, those Archives were to be used by the royals only.

Thus, Sulendys figured those records would be stored in the public Archives attached to the old Star Temple. It was a small and rundown temple, plants threatening to overtake the outside, with plenty of water accents making it look like a sunken temple.

In the back where the Priests lived was the Archives: a large room filled with shelves and bookcases amidst the waterfalls that weren’t really water but light, and an old statue so aged it bore no resemblance to any symbol beyond six arms appearing to hold something aloft. The statue stood at the very back of the room, framed by a star map that shifted with the skies and lit the room in eerie shadows.

It looked over the room, taking up the entire wall. The air felt charged here, the Veil just thin enough Sulendys struggled to keep his magic stable. Eyes seemed to watch every shadow, yet the shadows seemed quite happy to hide him…not that that made any sense. Shadows shouldn’t have a presence, let alone one strong enough for him to get an emotion off them.

It was probably just the Void messing with him. It tended to do that.

He peeked around the corner, down the long aisle to the statue. The bookcases lined the path like pews. In this place of knowledge, they kinda were pews, he supposed. Aside from the spirits and the eerie-ass statue, there was no one else around.

The light falling from the ceiling twinkled, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. Otherwise: dead silence. He calmly crept forward towards the collection of desks at the base of the statue. That’s where records to be sent to the Grand Archives would be, or at least that’s what he figured.

The bookcases held mostly public records like taxes, laws, and deeds. The shelves held old scrolls that dealt with the more religious-y stuff like star maps and rituals. Names, family records, and births were typically recorded and then sent away to be catalogued and stored by the Grand Librarians.

Why? Names held power just as blood held power. Spirits could use a person’s name to scry on them, and record their path. It wasn’t information to be accessed freely. Sulendys was pretty sure his own record was completely off limits.

Which begged the question as to why he was allowed to live if the Spirits knew who he was. Did the Spirits just never alert anyone to him? They were the ones to maintain the Archives, the Priests and Librarians were just there to sort and monitor visitors. So they had to know about him, yet he didn’t seem to exist.

He shook his head. Those kind of thoughts were useless. It didn’t matter how or why, that he was alive was the only thing to count. He kept his senses tuned to the world outside his shadows as he walked to the desks. Or whatever you call the long stone surface beneath the statue.

He glanced over the various scrolls and parchments. He knew that slaves’ records were not sent off quickly, so the chances of Mahviiral’s being there was quite good. He just had to find it.

Luckily, being the thief that he was, Sulendys had many tricks up his sleeve. Void magic was quite handy when it came to thievery. He pulled out a little pendulum he made. Carved from a special rock, as black as the night with smokey swirls inside like strings of stars, he had infused it with a bit of his magic.

He held it by the leather strap until it became ramrod straight. Runes pulsed once as the spell activated. He concentrated on the item he sought. Little dark fingers of magic seemed to grab the thought from his mind and pull it down into the stone.

It began to swing in a circle. He watched as it picked up speed, the circle growing wider and wider. It started to swing side to side. He held it to the right. It changed direction, shooting diagonally now.

He walked in that general direction, watching the pendulum’s swing get tighter or shift directions as he got closer. It immediately stopped, completely straight as he stood in front of a table covered with stacks of books, papers and scrolls.

He pocketed his rock and began sorting through the pages. Many names were scribbled on the pages. Most had ‘disease’ or some other fatality listed next to them. He didn’t think there were that many dying or being born in the Banal’rasan…though this was probably the only Archive in this section of the Elvhenan…

Sulendys quickly found that the loose parchments were births not performed by a Priest here at the Temple. Mahviiral probably was birthed by a midwife in the palace. He was barely given his names, so he shouldn’t be too far from the top.

He spread the pages in front of him, as he skimmed the…reports. Details of the specific stars, the attending Priest’s name, location, blah blah blah. He mostly paid attention to the bottom where various handwritings wrote in special ink the blood name of the child. Many were blank, but had the blood mark of at least one parent.

Adahla had not given Mahviiral her name, did not claim his as her blood, so his would not have the blood mark that bound child and parent together. He didn’t really understand why the seal was needed, just that it wouldn’t allow any person or spirit to alter the child’s records. Slaves and orphans had no such protections, the former because they were possessions and the latter because their records would change if they were adopted.

His eyes darted over page after page. His stomach twisted as he wondered if the record had already been sent off. That would be his luck, wouldn’t it? The Stars seemed to be testing his patience as of late. Or his sanity. Or both.

He mumbled curses to the Stars as he pulled another stack to him and rummaged through them. As his impatience and anxiety built, his magic twitched. A sudden breeze scattered the pages. He growled under his breath.

Figures. He glared at the papers now fluttering to the ground. Lightning buzzed around his fingertips as he shook them. He huffed. “Just…calm down,” he told himself. His neck popped loudly as he rolled it around. “The Veil’s too thin here to be getting riled up.” He flicked the static from his hands once more.

He glanced up at the faceless statue, swearing it still had eyes that watched him. This place was just fucking creepy, he concluded. Too much Void tended to do that. He bent down and began collecting the pages.

He straightened…and looked right at a spectral cat. He froze. It was a fairly large, fluffy cat, but its eyes were completely white. Pale blue light shone around it as it hovered above the pages.

Sulendys’s heart stopped as they stared at each other. What kind of spirit was this? It didn’t feel like a Wisdom or Integrity that usually guarded these places. Those tended to feel…weighty, vast. This spirit was calm, light…Was it a wisp then? No it had too distinct a form.

It swished its tail, sending another page fluttering to the ground. Sulendys glared. Maybe it was just a dead fucking cat. It merely stared serenely at him, waiting. He stooped to pick up the page, wondering if he could kill an already dead animal.

He froze as his eyes caught on a single word: Scourge. His eyes flew over the page as he straightened. The Scourge and the Sun…Ah-ha! Mahviiral Banal’ras’iroth. His lips twitched into a small smile. He glanced at the spirit cat, but it was gone without a trace of magic in the air.

Weird, but he was not going to question it.

He put the other pile back and read over the report carefully. Strange that they allowed the Sun star to remain, most often it was removed from records other than the hoity toity Sun Royals. He again wondered what his own report said. He probably had the Scourge star as well, but what else?

He shook his head. Focus time. His fingers traced the ink at the bottom of the page. Magic bristled at his touch. He pushed a bit harder, pulling it, shaping it how he wanted. He smiled as the name reformed. Who would’ve thought that being thrown into that hell of a tower would be a good thing? Of course, people always reveal things they shouldn’t when they think they’ve won.

Sulendys bit down on his thumb with a fang. He pressed it against the faded rune next to the name. It flashed a bright red. Magic flowed over the ink, turning it blood red, sealing the record to everyone but him.

He looked up at the lightening star map heralding the coming day. A mischievous smirk played on his face. “The Stars have a sense of humor,” he repeated as shadows wrapped around him once more and he stole away from the room with the faceless deity watching over.

*****

The Priest sorted through the pages set to be sent off that morning. His Apprentice carefully rolled each page and sealed it inside a scroll case that would protect it as well as tell the Spirits all they needed for the names to be recorded.

He glanced down on one page that had gotten separated from its pile. Another Voidborn that wouldn’t see the end of the summer probably, he thought. It was the sad fate of those born under the Scourge’s Star. He sighed at the cruelty of it all. His eyes looked down at the bottom, finding the familial seal glowing red. At least, this one was claimed and would be loved for however long they lived.

“Mahviiral Davhalla Vethari,” his whispered, handing it to his apprentice. “What a lovely name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies, Gentlemen, and Esteemed Nonbinaries....Sulendys! *loud clapping track* The God of Chaos and Sass! Ruining your plans since 5777 Ancient!
> 
> Seriously though, Sulendys is the best plot fixing character you don't even know. Plus I missed getting to walk the line between disturbing and just grumpy. 
> 
> But yep! Name change! Whoot whoot! It was nice to have a...not depressing chapter. But now back to Nothing. I'll have a special surprise ready by then I hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age and the canon lore used within this fic belong to BioWare, I have merely toyed with it. I've formed most of these headcanons over the course of Nothing, using various theories and thoughts found either by the community or myself. I don't mind sharing the theories/world building, just don't steal the story, characters, or plot. You're better than that.
> 
> Elvish language is either from canon or Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen.
> 
> Will be updated as I feel up to it. If you would like updates that's fine, just don't only comment demanding to get the next chapter. If you are having a bad day, I hope it gets better, and that you choose to close the browser rather than try to spread your bad vibes to strangers because no one needs that. Otherwise, comments, questions, concerns are always welcome and appreciated. Even if it's just typed *Kudos* on your favorite chapter.


End file.
